Peter's hands have been wrapped around Kitty now for what feels like hours. Good hours, warm hours, happy hours, but now he's sufficiently recuperated and is feeling up for more. Kitty certainly doesn't seem disinterested, she's been tweaking and teasing his nipples with her fingers and lips for the past ten minutes. Peter makes small noises of distress, but he's obviously enjoying it. Who wouldn't?
Kitty runs a purple painted nail across the nipple closest to her, softly, but enough that he feels the little slash, and feels himself harden, but also cringe slightly, in response. His shoulders come forward and his chest shirks back from her finger, and he whines, leaning his head to kiss the top of her mussed hair. "You're so mean." He mumbles into the mess of curls.
She smiles up at him, all Cheshire grins. She's a minx. She's his minx. He lifts her up easily, suddenly and inspired, and sits up, switching places on the bed so now she's laying down and he's stroking her breasts and tweaking her nipples. She likes it even more than he does.
His calloused fingers tweak and pluck, hardening her nipples to little points before he gathers her breasts in both of his big hands and brings his mouth down to their peaks. He starts by kissing, his lips only rubbing soft against the hardening of her nipples and the goosepimpled flesh of her areolae. Then his tongue snakes out, warm and wet, to coat her skin and bring the budding nipples, one at a time, into his mouth, where he runs his teeth along them, carefully, so carefully, drawing squeals out of Kitty's parted lips.
He likes those squeals.
He picks he up and flips her over, and she starts to giggle uncontrollably. He grins and kisses her shoulder. "What's so funny?"
Between titters, "you...flipped me like...a pancake or something!" She smiles so warmly at him, even in the middle of her laughing fit.
He snorts and bites her shoulder, sucking and just hard enough to leave a purpley-blue bruise in the shape of his mouth. It will look just like her skin when she turns into stars. "You're my favorite flapjack." He nips her again, softer this time.
She coughs, still laugh, on hand attempting to swat him, but he avoids it easily; it's hard to swipe at someone with any sort of precision when your on your stomach and they're behind you. He cups her ass, and she lifts her hips willingly, though still quaking slightly with the after effects of a good chuckle. He holds her steady, kissing one cheek, her hip, the straight line of her spine running down to...
One finger probes her warmth, tickling the folds of her labia, and he finds she's still wet and warm, practically dripping, even after all their cooing and cuddling. He kisses her ass again, low enough that his bottom lip puckers against the bottom of her wetness. This earns him a low, needy moan from Kitty, whose face is now cuddled into the pillow that smells like Peter-a deep, red scent of spices, leather, a hint of oil, and good shampoo.
He pulls out of the kiss, licking his bottom lip clean, and continues his finger's journey through her folds, up to the tight pucker of her ass. Everything is soaked in the runoff of her pleasure. He plays at her hole of a moment, teasing the tight entrance, and she squirms in response, not uncomfortable with it, but also completely foreign to her.
He grips her cheeks, moving his finger away from what he perceives is uncomfortable to her, and drags her down by her hips, to the the edge of the bed, where he now stands. He lifts her up a little, and Kitty has to marvel at how inconsequentially light she seems to him, yet how she can also feel his muscles tense and his body work. Even if he is part alien, he's still a good portion human, and he's obviously worked hard to obtain he barrel chested, thickly muscled physique.
He brings himself into her and all of Kitty's thoughts simply fall to how very, very good she feels. He fills her up to the point of being overwhelmed, but fits just right. She's like Goldielocks if the story became much, much dirtier, and less of a metaphor for effort, selfishness, and societal rules starring bears.
Kitty hums happily and Peter groans in turn with his rhythmic pumping. His hands rub and smack and play across her hindquarters, and Kitty presses further back into him, making a needy, curious noise. Peter thinks he understands, and obliges, finger snaking back to tease gently at her asshole.
He is slow and soft, but deliberate with his motions, stopping when she makes anxious or unhappy noises (she barely does). His finger plays opposite the rhythm of his cock, maybe he can even feel himself within her from both sides. It's an odd sensation for Kitty, almost too full, but also so satisfying. Every shift and slide and move he makes elicits soft groans from her, growing steadily louder as she tenses, her insides clinging to him.
She bunches up the bed sheets in her hands and lets out a happy crow, squeezing around him. Her eyes are clenched, brow sweaty, and she's biting her lip in utter concentration. Peter slips his fingers away from her, feeling spent. He pumps a few more moments, savoring the feeling of moving into her, dragging her orgasm on, before coming inside of her and resting himself practically on top of her backside.
She tilts her body just enough to reach out to him, grabbing the air to indicate she wants to hold him and wants to be held as well. Peter obliges, slipping out of her excruciatingly slowly, disposing of his condom, and sleepily climbing into the bed with her.
His arms pull her into a bear hug, and she wraps herself around his body as well, in a happy stupor. If they had been less spent, less enraptured by one another, less tuned out from the rest of the universe, perhaps they would have heard Gamora grumbling grumpily outside about the price one has to pay for cosmic powers.