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Every morning, Peter wakes up to a throbbing between his legs, cum staining his boxers, and cramps in his palms from clenching his fists too hard. He’ll go through his day, and try not to touch himself on company time, fail, and gain no satisfaction from it anyway. The last time he came, like really came, was maybe three months ago when him and Mary Jane were still together; he remembers it well. There were hands stuffed under shirts, and a rigorous dry humping session ensued on her couch, in which he finished right in his jeans, and apologized profusely (it did make her laugh, so he does count it as a win in his book, sort of). That was long enough ago for it to be a stale memory for him to hurriedly jerk off to before work, and he’s been milking it for a while. To put it plainly, Peter Parker is utterly, terribly sexually repressed.
Peter has never been one for porn; if you asked him, his reasoning would be somewhere along the lines of due to its exploitative nature, or the fear of addiction. The fact is that he’s tried a lot of it, but for him it lacks the eroticism of a real sexual encounter. But if he’s not having sex, where’s he going to get that from? It’s embarrassing for him to just type the names of the websites in his browser, even on incognito, where no one can see him on ‘VideoSluts’ or whatever he’s trying desperately to get off to.
He’s having a rough time until he stumbles onto a live website. He’s familiar with the concept of camgirls and stuff like that, people you can pay to request things from. Sort of like an online prostitution service. Where Peter is disgusted by the ease of access, Spider-Man is defined by such conveniences. After all, he’s just paying a quick buck out of his already-suffering wallet to cum to someone desperate enough to do what he wants. It’s not like he plans to ask for anything outrageous; just some nice words and visuals to guide him along.
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Johnny Storm is a little shit, evidenced by the fact that he’s adding to his existing fortune by…
Posing as Spider-Man on cam porn websites.
He’s not really impersonating him per se, more like buying a costume mask off the internet and using it as a way to profit off of those fans while getting to show his body off in a way he likes. You know, normal activities for a famous hero. It’s not like it’s illegal, either; for Spider-Man to put a legal stop to this would make it so that he’d have to reveal his identity, which Johnny doesn’t believe Peter will do anytime soon.
He really is guilty about it, though. Sometimes he’ll clean up the messes he leaves on his sheets from performing and use all of the tips and customer money to buy Peter food or tech or whatever, and he has to screw his face up all tight so he doesn’t just blurt out, ”I’m getting all this money by pretending to be you and making porn for creeps online. It’s a truly shameful thing he’s doing, he’s well aware.
But the thrill it gives him is overwhelming, especially when he sees ‘Pete’ log onto his queue of waiting customers.
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Peter has to laugh at how ridiculous it really is; the fact that there’s someone out there making porn as, well, himself does make him laugh uncontrollably, but there’s an undertone of curiosity to his amusement here.
“Do u ever wonder if the real guy’s watching ur stuff?” He types into the message bar. This guy is good, he’s got an acrobatic build like his, and he’s posing naked in a way that isn’t unlike one of his fighting poses. This person’s skin is a lot more golden, and his body is coated in a shade of sandy, dirty blonde that sits more like dust than hair. His voice is muffled, but cool.
“Sometimes, but I don’t think he has the balls to give that away,” The mask he’s wearing is noticeably cheap, but he’s gone through the trouble of reasonably scuffing it up to add to its realism.
what makes u say that. Peter types back, admittedly a little too fast.
“It can’t be good for the brand if it gets out,” The man leans back, and Peter catches a glimpse of his pubic hair— it turns him on a little more than he’d like. “Is there something in particular you’re paying me to see?”
Peter pauses to think for a while; if he were an eager, thirsty fan of himself, what would he want to see? But the fact that he’s getting turned on by an impersonator scares him, so he decides he’ll ignore the mask for now, and ask himself what he’s in the mood for.
He figures it out in about a minute. Touch urself.
The man’s all too eager, ready to perform. “Yeah? You wanna tell me how to do it?”
no, i dont. I havent done it right in so long and I want to see you do it. Peter doesn’t need the exaggeration of it all, just the semblance of intimacy, which he think this guy could figure out.
Johnny’s ready to just go through the motions until he sees that what Pete wants is for him to just get off on camera for him, which takes him aback a bit; he’s used to people wanting him to just shove things up his ass or run the camera’s gaze all over him while they said outrageous things in the messaging function (notably, someone took the time to note that his cock was actually bigger than it looked in his actual suit; it seemed that some people were genuinely under the impression that he was actually Spider-Man).
Pete seems to be watching while Johnny takes his sweet time with it, playing with his tip and his balls before he wraps his hand around his shaft and squeezes, not stroking himself quite yet; he likes to tease himself, and really make sure his body’s ready and tight before he wreaks havoc on it with his own two hands.
It should’ve been suspicious that a guy with a name so close to Peter’s who led the conversation with some eerie theory that Spider-Man himself was watching, but Johnny thinks it’s reasonable enough to think he wouldn’t want to search himself up, anyway. If there’s something Johnny knows about Peter, it’s that he’s too humble to watch his own porn.
Johnny’s too lost in the feel of his own skin to care too much about it right now; he’s circling his flushed, pink tip with his thumb as his pace on the rest of his length ebbs and flows— it has Peter entranced, and he can’t help but match his pace.
It works; Peter can feel his eyes starting to roll back. This guy, whoever he is, is a master at this. He can’t help but be quietly stunned at the quality of visuals he’s being fed— much better than if he were to make the porn himself ironically.
It’s going swimmingly until the man—Johnny—props a leg up and reveals his puckered, pink hole, at which Peter can only just sit and stare at, hand pathetically pumping himself, the wet clicking noises filling even more pathetic room.
Johnny somewhat left his dazed state, having to focus for this part. He’s tempted to reach for his sprawling collection of toys, wands and rabbits not exactly made for him and beads he usually saves for certain customers or occasions, but he decides that he’s going to use his fingers.
He wants to cum cleanly, do this the right way, and maybe inspire the man on the other side— Peter wouldn’t necessarily describe his feelings as ‘inspired’, more so full of awe as he watches him suck his fingers, and plunge one, then two digits into his tight little hole, which greedily invites them in.
Peter’s so hard it’s almost painful, and Johnny’s loving the control he has over the two of them, even if he can’t see his face. There’s a deep satisfaction there for Johnny in knowing what he can do to people, the kind of touches he can simulate for them. He’s happy to just bask in the sensation of his own fingers on his prostate, angling himself so Peter can see every pulse of his hole, every dribble of precum that escapes his tip.
Johnny starts the ebb and flow again; he’ll speed up so fast that his hands are a blur as they work over himself, then he brings in slower, deeper strokes, and he moans so prettily it almost makes Peter emotional. He’d moan along too, and harmonize if it weren’t for how he holds himself back so he can just keep hearing the other man.
They cum together, and it’s the most intense orgasm Peter’s had in a while, a far cry from shooting blanks or simply not being able to get himself over the peak well enough to feel anything at all. This is intense, and about as intimate it can get in a situation like this. There’s so much of it, spurting onto his stomach, his hand, and as if he were there with him, Peter’s swiping it onto his little finger and giving it a lick. As if reading his mind, the guy on screen gets a taste of himself while it’s still coming out, and it’s probably the hottest thing Peter’s seen in his life.
The camera shifts; he’s been sitting on his bed, but a slight knock on the lens from the intensity of his orgasm reveals what Peter thinks is familiar windowsill with a familiar view he’s frequented over the last year. Yes, it’s quite clear based on the sleek white metal and blue emblems around the curtains. Is that you flamebrain. I stg.
Peter isn’t quite sure why he’s not more appalled by this, let alone why his dick’s getting hard again. Or why he’s so excited to see Johnny again. He’ll think about it later.
On Johnny’s end, it takes a couple seconds for him to process. There’s precisely one person on Earth whose first instinct is to call Johnny ‘flamebrain.” He freezes, moves his albeit-masked face off-camera, and covers up his body; he doesn’t exactly have to say much at this point.
get a better room to record in, firefly. One that doesn’t give ya away so easily.