AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guys, come on. This simply had to be done. Not only did May and Tony have so much chemistry in that one small scene they shared, but also, "Only You"!
Three cheers for the Russo Brothers for the perfect Spider-Man in 30 mins that beat the other 5 movies and so many, I mean... SO MANY cheers for Marisa Tomei's general beautifulness and more cheers for Tony Stark. #TeamTony all the way.
When she slides into her bed, freshly showered and lightly clothed, ready to spend some time alone with herself, for herself, May Parker expects she will have at least forty-five minutes before she has to dress up and get ready to play the role of Aunt May.
It's not that she hates it.
She doesn't even dislike it.
Ever since her sister's death, she's had the responsibility of raising her nephew in place of the child she never had. It was never an easy job, but she loved Peter with all her heart and she had the support of her husband, Ben, who gave Peter every bit of care and attention he would have to his own son.
But in the last year, after her husband's death, that huge responsibility, that of carefully guiding a teenager through the early years of his life has fallen on her. And she has shouldered it pretty well, she thinks.
But still… having a teenager in the house means that she has time that she might otherwise have spent on herself. Most of the times, this doesn't bother her. She relishes in the relation she has with Peter, she takes pride in his intellect and she loves him for being as understanding and as supporting as he has been.
Sometimes, however, she does have these moments. Moments when she wonders what she would be doing if Peter weren't around. Moments when she lets herself think that she may be able to go out, have fun, find someone… build a relationship. She is a woman, after all. She does miss the intimacy and the connection that forms between two lovers. It is in these moments that the role of Aunt May seems to define her more than who she is as just May Parker.
It is in these moments that some part of her expresses some sort of negative emotion towards her nephew. May does feel guilty afterwards, but she can't help it. She never expresses any of these concerns to Peter, though. She just wants and hopes for him to grow into his own; strong, clever, and undefined by the tragedies that had befallen him.
So now, in this moment – this moment of that weakness, the want for pleasure, the need for intimacy overtakes her and she lets herself recline in her bed and prepares to relax.
Usually, relaxation would mean watching a movie, or reading a book. She had just recently picked up an old romantic comedy, some movie about a woman who searched for her soulmate in Italy, cliched and predictable and all-too-cheesy, but right now, May doesn't want to watch a movie. She doesn't want to read a book.
She wants to take some tension off of herself.
She wants pleasure.
She lets her hands slowly roam her body. She doesn't have any one person in mind right now. Nothing that carries weight into her lazy fantasy, but as her hands travel down her stomach towards the edge of her panties, she can almost imagine the touch of a man. It's not her husband, she knows there is no use in still hanging over someone dead and as much as she had loved him, she had moved on in the last year. No. These hands belong to someone else.
Her hands, or in her fantasy, this mystery man's hands slowly slide over her panties and then retreat, teasing her. One hand commits to continue the light teasing while the other travels upwards, through her white top, fingers grazing over her now perked nipples.
Her fantasy starts taking a more solid form.
She can almost picture the man, in his Tom Ford, three-piece, two-button suit, buttons off, lying next to her, urging her on, whispering to her and cooing in smug satisfaction as she lets out a small whimper. She knows who the man is. He has starred in her fantasies before. Something about him, every time May sees him on TV or comes across him on the internet, something about his confidence and charm and intelligence attracts her. And the fact that he is on an entirely different level, so perfect yet so far and so unattainable makes him the perfect fantasy.
Nipples fully hard and anticipation building up, she lets the hand teasing over her panties to slowly make their way under the thin fabric and feel the slickness that has built up. She prepares to enter one finger inside and–
The front bell rings.
May jerks in surprise. Has Peter arrived home early? Her mind races while she quickly gets off the bed and corrects her attire. She fixes her hair and the top and grabbing a pair of pants off the edge of the bed, she puts them on. The front bell rings again. It's not Peter, she figures. He has his own key.
She runs out of her room and goes to the front door. Once more making sure she is presentable, she opens the door just as the bell starts ringing a third time.
"Sorry for intrusion–oh." The man standing in front of her, looking dishevelled and tired, yet handsome and presentable coughs. "Hello, I'm Tony Stark. This is Peter Parker's house, correct?"
A/N 2: Didya like it? Should I continue?