bakerstreet | Come to my window, sneak into the light

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Come to my window, sneak into the light

Sexy Sleepover

inspired by a "kink i want to play" comment on rpa:

Bare bones is that some teenage friends have a sleep over where typical sleep over silliness occurs...or, at least, it does until one of the girls decides to sneak her boyfriend/fuckbuddy in. Now, whether things swing more sexy due to the girls egging each other on, having a little naughty fun, or just being horny is negotiable. The guy being grumpy about getting dragged into "girly stuff" until the tides turn or into it from the start depends on your tastes.

The popcorn's buttered to perfection, the horror movies queued up, and salacious stories ready for the telling. That can only mean one thing: sleepover! Whether it's a more casual, unplanned adult version - just crashing at someone's house - or the stereotypical teen romp, you and a friend (and possibly some other folks) are sharing the same living space for the night.

Only it doesn't look like you'll be getting too much sleep tonight, because somehow, someway, things have taken a turn for the...heated. Maybe this was the score all along, and the "sleepover" cover was only a clever ruse, perhaps a playful party game got too handsy, secret feelings bubbled over - or someone not on the guest list got snuck in or gatecrashed!

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This meme can be whatever you want it to be. Cute, steamy, more ~refined~ with grown ass adults who don't do "sleepovers" thank you very much, kinky, it doesn't matter. Play multiple characters and do threesomes or moresomes. I'm not the meme police, live your life.
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He huffs a laugh, in a silent you know what I meant, but since she did he doesn't have to correct her. Gwen has always been gifted at reading between his lines, understanding in the absences. And it's hard to say no when she's leaning back in her blankets and trying to pull him along with her.

Okay, not trying, succeeding, because not being close enough to kiss her seems impossible. A part of Peter wants to protest, staying the night with her and breakfast with her family sounds too perfect, too good, when he's knows he's betraying her father with every kiss he steals. The pang of guilt doesn't linger as sharp as it usually does.

"Maybe. Are you having pancakes?" He murmurs, leaning against her and brushing some hair over her shoulder, letting his fingers run the line of her neck.

Maybe she should feel guilty, too. Knowing what her father had asked of Peter and knowing that Peter had wanted to honour that. She knows, too, that neither of them would be happy with that, and this is better.

"Maybe," is Gwen's easy reply. "Do you know how to make pancakes?" She' s teasing. Maybe. Her hand presses to the back of Peter's neck with gentle pressure, keeping him close while they trade kisses. "Do you -"

She plucks at Peter's collar. There's no way she has any pajamas that might fit him, but he might be more comfortable without so many layers. The thought makes her blush enough that Peter can probably feel the heat in her cheeks.

"Um," is his incredibly intelligent, thought provoking answer. He could maybe follow the instructions on the side of a Bisquick box, but the Stacy family probably doesn't even buy pancake mix. They're the sort to make from scratch, maybe organic, maybe even gluten free somehow. It doesn't really matter that his pancake making skills are non-existent, though, when a better answer to her question seems to be curling hand behind her ear and kissing her a little longer than the last few had been.

Her fingers at his collar force him back to reality. He so easily forgets how fast and deep he falls when he's close to her. A fact that makes him about as nervous as she seems to be. Peter pulls back to look at the fingers in his hoodie, dazed for a few seconds until he realizes she's suggesting he remove it.

Dark eyes glance to the pink tinge in her cheeks, and he murmurs, "I have a shirt on underneath." He can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, yet. Still, he leans back so they can at least remove his sweatshirt. Why does he insist on wearing so many clothes?

It's not like she hasn't seen him shirtless.

Sitting up, Gwen bites the inside of her lip, but there's a smirk starting to grow. She feels a little awkward bringing it up, but if she can't be awkward around Peter, who can she be awkward around?

"And ... These?" She hooks a finger in the belt loop of his jeans. "Are you wearing a shirt underneath these, too?" She assumes he's wearing something. Denim is just uncomfortable in place of bed clothes.

Totally true. It's not that weird for him to be in skintight latex around her, either. So there's nothing under his four shirts that could particularly surprise her. Nothing under his jeans, either, though he can't help the red run in his skin at the question.

He nuzzles against her face, heart beating a little fast as he contemplates an answer. "Okay, no shirt there," he mumbles, and while it might have been dumb of him to reassure her about his shirt status, what is under her fingers seems a little more dangerous. Peter swallows, before telling her, "Underwear. Like... boxers, not... not that anything is wrong with any other kind of underwear, I just..." Okay so maybe he's more nervous than he thought. He fades off, looking up at the ceiling as if there might be a rewind button on it, so he can go back to before he'd spontaneously erupted in underwear considerations.

"Sorry."

What is she apologizing for? Guys sleep in boxers and t-shirts all the time, right? And here she is in flannel pajamas. Jesus.

"You can sleep in whatever you want. Honest" Gwen finally wiggles in under the covers, leaving enough space for Peter to join her. Hopefully in just a t-shirt and boxers, so she makes a show of covering her eyes to protect Peter's modesty.

What is she apologizing for? And more importantly, why is he turning into a stammering mess? Well, because it's Gwen and because he's terrified of not doing right by her, but more importantly if there was anyone he wanted to figure this out with, wouldn't it be her?

"Don't be sorry." There's absolutely no reason to. He doesn't hesitate as he tugs at his belt, kicks off his jeans and settles next to her again. Just some hairy legs at the moment, nothing exciting. Thankfully, considering the taste of her kisses still on his tongue. Peter seems to be wearing a question he can't quite ask on his face, the furrowed brow that hints at something he's thinking about, but they're here to sleep, right? He should focus on that.

He snakes an arm under Gwen and pulls her closer. That's easier than asking potentially awkward questions anyway. "Better?"

Gwen's got her own questions, she's much better at hiding them. They're both just a little inexperienced at this, both hormonal and possibly sure they're in love. This is normal. Right?

She rolls into Peter, snuggling up. Her head rests on his chest, and this is nice. "Better," she murmurs. Gwen tangles their legs tomorrow, but between the bedding and the hairy legs, the flannel shocks Peter's skin and she has to fight back a smile. "Sorry."

It feels better for him, too. He's a big enough idiot that he'd probably have kept every last layer on, despite the discomfort, but with them gone he's glad Gwen suggested it. It's more than better, when he can feel the warmth of her sinking through his tshirt. A hand pulls at some blonde strands as Peter lets himself settle into the comfort of having her close.

He's not expecting the shock; not even spider senses warn him. Peter jumps a little at the tickle of electricity, but settles back not even a second later. "Okay, you can be sorry for that one. Think I've been electrocuted enough, for the record."

"That was all your own fault." Running into danger, being heroic and brave and good. Honestly, Peter.

A thought creeps across Gwen's mind. She falls silent for a moment, weighing the possible outcomes and the level of embarrassment - both her own and Peter's. The pajamas are modest. Safe. Cozy. Peter adds a new layer of heat that might make the flannel sweat.

Gwen's always had her own daring side, anyway.

"Here - Let me -" Without dislodging herself too much from Peter's hold, she manages to shimmy and toe her way free of the pajama pants. It's a good thing it's dark and they're under the blankets. Gwen feels a bit ridiculous now in her own underwear and the flannel shirt with it's big collar and its little daisy pattern.

It was his own fault, yes, but who else was going to get readily electrocuted for the good of New York? "Better me than somebody else," is his only defense. Peter doesn't love getting hurt on the job, and he doesn't like worrying Gwen, either. It's just that sometimes (almost all the time), it's worth it if he can protect someone else.

Peter leans back as she shifts, not quite knowing what she's up to until the silk of her skin slips against his. It makes the breath in his throat catch. A part of him feels badly that something so soft would have to touch his legs that are certainly not, but...

He shifts a little nearer, so their legs are back in the familiar knot they were in before. "Better?" He asks again, tone a little more breathless this time. He has no idea what he is doing or what they are doing — but he trusts Gwen to tell when she wants to stop.

"Do you want another zap?"

Which means, yes, better. She's glad he can't really see her, because he'd notice her own uncertainty. Her flushed face or the way she bites the inside her lip. Normally she's sure about things, but not this.

Not that she hasn't thought about it. Now and then, Gwen imagines this sort of scenario, what she'd do and how they'd be in the quiet darkness with each other. She swallows before she looks up.

"This is." Um. "Hi." Gwen laughs, quietly and nervously.

No, he's good on more zaps. Though, that's not to say he's not feeling an undercurrent of electricity. Her body so close, her legs bare against his, the reality that both of them are wearing very little between them.

He definitely has thought about the idea of them going further than kisses that get deeper and warmer by the day. He's a teenage boy, of course he's thought about it. It's a bit of a terrifying concept, for more reasons than just the natural and obvious ones — what if he's not good at it, what if she doesn't like it, what if it makes things awkward between them, what if what if what if. There's also the terrifying idea that he won't be able to control himself, and in more than just the embarrassing way.

In a dangerous way.

Still, even with the risk, he laughs when she does, nuzzling her like a doting cat before he looks her in the eye. "Hi," he returns, and maybe he should have something smart or smooth to say. He doesn't. Instead, he says, "I want to kiss you again." Usually he doesn't bother to ask permission for a kiss, yet somehow in this moment, it feels like maybe he should.

Gwen likes that he asks. Not because he has to, but because he's nice enough to think he should.

"I'd like that, yeah." She bites the inside of her lip again and swallows, not giving Peter time to make the first move. The first brush of lips is chaste, the second a little less so. Kissing is something they know. Neither needs to think of the mechanics. This part is easy.

Not that she thinks there are going to be other parts. Nervously, she shifts her legs against his, trying to be mindful of any, uh, accidental contact.

So much for letting her sleep, Peter. Still, in the end, she wants to kiss him just as much as he'd like to kiss her. There's a comfort in knowing that, a comfort in knowing that whenever she's ready to stop, she'll tell him.

Maybe he doesn't need to be so nervous about all this, even though at the same time, it's impossible to let go of it entirely.

His hand curves around her cheek as she kisses him, and she's right that this part is easy enough he almost forgets about the rest. Almost, because even the slide of her legs along his earns a hitch of his breath he wasn't expecting. It feels good, and it's no reason to break their kiss, either, though it makes him curious to touch more of her.

He is slow to move his hand from her cheek to land at her hip, waiting for a reaction before he uses that to draw her a little closer. The flannel of her shirt is soft against his chest, almost as soft as her lips on his.

It's almost funny, the way the two of them are suddenly so careful with every touch and every movement. Gwen might look back on it and laugh. For now, she just sighs, letting herself be drawn flush against Peter.

After what feels like an eternity, she draws back for a breath. Her exhale is shaky. "Peter ..." Honestly, she doesn't know what she's asking. It's as much a go ahead as it is we shouldn't, though the latter thought is only because it's the responsible and reasonable thing to thing to think.

For once, he's not quite sure what she's asking, either. Peter isn't half as good at reading between the absences as Gwen is, though he does think he's good at knowing what she's thinking. Right about now, though, it isn't quite as clear.

Maybe because his own thinking isn't very clear, when his skin wears a sudden flush and his body is reacting to how close she is and how much he wants her — how much he's always wanted her.

"Yes," he murmurs, and Peter is prepared for any answer. If she wants to stop, if she... if she doesn't want to stop.

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Come to my window, sneak into the light

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