CHAPTER 23
GOING IN FOR THE KILL

18+ warning: smut.

"SLOANE, I –"

She slammed the door in his face before he could finish. Turning on her heel, Sloane clenched her hands into fists and began walking away. She needed to, or she was going to scream and cry and say things that she would soon regret. She suddenly forgot why she'd even come in the first place, and it didn't matter anymore. Because she now knew the truth. Sloane only got about five feet down the dingy hallway before his door opened and he called her back.

"Sloane," he said, a hint of pleading in his tone.

She turned slightly. He was only wearing sweatpants now, his torso on full display. He was skinnier than she imagined, but his arms were toned and his chest had a few scars. His eyes were hidden behind his thick-rimmed glasses. She swallowed hard and stood her ground, despite the look of his messy hair making her knees weak.

"Can we talk?" He asked. "Please?"

She looked down at his hands. He was still holding that fucking mask in one of them. Anger settled into her system again. She stomped over, stopping just a foot away from him. The light above their heads flickered. "Why should I hear anything you have to say? It's just going to be more lies, isn't it?" She snagged the mask out of his grip and shook it. "I mean, how fucking long did you plan on keeping this from me?"

"I –"

"You pretended to be two fucking people this entire time. Do you even realize how crazy that is? You're a fucking liar. You lied to me."

"Okay, okay, wait a second," he interrupted, grabbing the mask back and sticking it in his pocket. "It's not something I can tell just anyone, Sloane. Did you expect me to spill my life story to you when we met at the skate park that day? Why I made this whole suit in the first place? Why I stopped being him after so many people died in my arms?"

Her brows knitted together. "I expected you to be honest. Which is the bare fucking minimum, Peter!"

Her voice echoed off the walls. Peter knew it was only a matter of time before one of his nosey neighbors popped their head out to see what the commotion was about. He sighed and yanked on her arm, pulling her into his apartment and shutting the door. Sloane's back hit the surface with a thump and Peter placed a hand against the door, trapping her inside the comfort of his muscled arms.

Sloane's mouth ran dry, but the fury inside her was still boiling. "What – are you gonna lock me inside here now too?"

"No," he answered defensively, backing away. "Now you can scream inside here all you want."

"I'd rather wake up all your neighbors and let them know how big of a liar you are."

Peter tsked under his breath and threw the mask in a pile with the other parts of his Spider-Man suit. "Oh, come on, Sloane –"

"Why is it so hard for your tiny brain to grasp why I'm angry? Don't play dumb, Peter."

His eyes narrowed. "If my brain is so tiny, why were you so desperate for Spider-Man to help you with your article?"

"See, right there! You're talking as if you and your fucking alter-ego aren't the same person. Do you not realize that you tricked me into believing you and Spider-Man weren't two different people?" She placed a hand on her forehead. "I mean, I kissed you thinking you were two people. I talked to you on the phone, two different numbers ..."

Realization dawned on her, and it looked like it had on him too. Sloane scanned the room before her eyes landed on the small table by the door. There was a tiny dish where his keys sat, but next to it was a scratched Samsung flip phone. On the kitchen island a few feet away, the iPhone she'd seen Peter use before sat idly.

Sloane picked up the flip phone and held it up. "Is this a fucking burner?"

His eyes went wide. He knew he'd fucked up.

She opened up the phone and looked for his number in the contacts. She lifted her eyes, her mouth dropped. "You've been contacting me as Spider-Man on a burner phone this entire time?!"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? Give you my personal number and expose everything?!"

Sloane whipped the flip phone in his direction. It hit his chest before dropping to the carpet, and he massaged the area. "YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE!" She shrieked, turning for the door. "Good-fucking-bye. I'm leaving. Don't talk to me ever –"

He was trapping her again, pushing her against the door made out of splintered wood and placing one hand near her head. He towered over her like a statue. Sloane swallowed hard, and despite her untamable rage, her underwear was already soaked. His dark eyes wouldn't leave hers, as if he knew. His fingers twitched beside her head. She swallowed again.

It was so much to process at once: the fact that the masked superhero she fantasized about was actually the man that made her feel so cared for. There was a rush of emotions consuming her body. From anger to sadness to lust to betrayal – she felt it all at that moment. It made her want to down a bottle of whatever alcohol she could find just to forget it. But with him being so close, knowing the truth – she wanted to be in this moment. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to cry. She wanted him to kiss her.

"I hate you," she barked.

Peter shook his head. "I don't think you mean that."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because you know that I wanted you to know all this time." He pointed to where his glasses were perched on his nose. "I'm an open book. You can see it in my eyes."

She scoffed, "I beg to differ."

"Sloane," he said, and just the sound had her knees buckling, "of course, I wanted you to know. Keeping this secret has been the worst part of my life for years. I didn't tell you because –" He stopped and ran a hand through his hair nervously. Standing up straight, he removed the other hand beside her head. "I didn't want what happened to Gwen, or even Uncle Ben, to happen to you too. People get hurt when Spider-Man's in the picture."

She understood why he did it. That didn't make it hurt any less. Peter had seen so many people die under that mask and needed to protect everyone around him. She got it – she really did. But a tiny part of her still wished she had known.

"Yeah, well," she crossed her arms over her chest, "knowing that you lied hurts more."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I've only ever wanted to protect you, whether that be as Spider-Man or just myself."

She paused, taking in his defeated stance. Biting on her bottom lip, she couldn't help but compare the expression on his face to a sad puppy. She softened a little and let her arms fall to her sides. "I believe you." She stepped towards him, closing the comfortable distance between them. "It just hurts because I had feelings for both of you. Or just – you and the guy you pretended to be behind a mask. I don't know. You get what I mean." She sighed heavily. "I'm attracted to you, okay? No matter what you are, whether you're wearing a mask or not."

His eyes crinkled in a joking manner. "I don't know about that. You clearly wanted to fuck Spider-Man." He laughed, but just the statement made a current of desire shoot through her. "Peter Parker has always been a little more uninteresting than him."

Sloane sent him a look, wanting to say that wasn't true, but then her eyes were raking down his body. She took in his slender torso, his well-defined abdomen, the old wounds that littered his exposed skin. She scanned him from top to bottom, stopping at the now-apparent bulge fighting against the material of his sweatpants.

"Sloane."

She dragged her stare up again and their eyes connected. Her mouth went numb. Just the sound of her name from his mouth made every nerve inside her body go into overdrive. Her hands were itching to touch him. The yearning in his eyes was intoxicating. It felt almost silly that he could want her in this ratty sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. But Sloane could see it, and she couldn't wait. She was suddenly so wet that he could just slide right in if he wanted to. And she really wanted him to want to.

Slowly, he reached out and cupped her cheek. Her skin felt like it was on fire. His thumb smoothed her cheekbone before then grazing her bottom lip. Sloane closed her eyes and whined softly under her breath.

She couldn't take it anymore. She was going in for the kill.

Knotting her fingers into his hair, Sloane brought him down to her level and smashed her lips onto his. There was that taste of cinnamon gum, just like in her dream, and the scent of his cologne that he probably bought from CVS still sent shivers down her spine. Because they were both so him, so Peter.

His tongue tangled with hers and Sloane moaned into his mouth. She struggled to slide off her parka, but it fell to the floor eventually. Peter backed her against the closest wall, their bodies crammed together, and she could feel the hard line of his cock through his pants. Instinctively, she let him place one knee in between her legs and grinded against his semi-erect bulge. She could get herself off like this for hours, feeling how big he was even through his sweatpants, the material rubbing against her sensitive clit. But she wanted more. She always wanted more.

"I want to taste you," he mumbled into her mouth. "I've wanted to since that phone call."

"Please, don't mention –" Her lips engulfed his. "That –" She kissed him again. "Phone call."

Peter only laughed, hands winding around her and squeezing her small butt. Sloane hopped up, wrapping her legs around his torso, and allowed him to carry her god-knows-where. She felt so safe in his arms, even when he mistakenly hit his head against the doorframe while walking backward. Sloane giggled against his lips. It was funny how quickly her mood had changed, as soon as she admitted her feelings.

The anger dissipated within her completely as her back flopped against the mattress. She was laying on top of his messy sheets and he was standing over her. He took off his glasses and placed them on his nightstand before situating himself in front of her again. Sloane admired how tall he was before staring at the outline of his cock again. It was practically fighting against the material of his pants, begging to be released, but Peter clearly had other plans as he pulled Sloane toward the edge of the bed. She slipped off her sneakers and almost sat up to help him take off her pants, but he stopped her by putting a hand over her own.

His mouth twisted, and he pointed with his thumb to the suit lying in a pile on the carpet. "Do you want me to put on the Spider suit?"

Sloane assumed it was a joke, but she quickly realized he needed reassurance that whatever they did wasn't about her old lust for Spider-Man. This was just about Sloane and Peter.

"I don't want Spider-Man. I want you," she said earnestly, lifting her head to look at him by the end of the bed. "But keep the suit idea for later."

They both laughed as he began to pull down her pants. Sloane muttered, "Sorry that my outfit is so ..." She frowned.

"Sloane," he said, one hand placed on her exposed thigh. She peered at him again and realized how serious he was. "This is the sexiest sweatsuit I've ever seen."

Sloane chuckled, finally kicking off the pants from her ankles. She was exposed then, besides the damp underwear clinging to her. She hoped he didn't mind that she hadn't shaved yet this week. Some men were so weird about women having pubic hair, and she hadn't prepared for this moment to happen. But when her stare met his at the end of the bed, all she saw was pure, unadulterated lust. His eyes were practically black.

"You're so beautiful, Sloane Bernstein," he said before yanking her underwear down and diving between her legs.

He spread her legs open wide, kissing along her upper thigh before licking a long, hot strip to where her leg and pelvis met. His scruff scratched her skin. Sloane squirmed, but he held her in place with one hand latched around her knee and the other pushing down on her stomach, bunching at the fabric of her sweatshirt. She laced her fingers through his hair, tugging on it, wanting more. His teeth grazed her inner thigh, leaving marks she might regret tomorrow. But it wasn't tomorrow yet. Now, she wanted everything.

She called out his name, but it sounded more like a whine than anything. It made him chuckle against her skin, and she felt the sound vibrate straight to her core. Her hips bucked up toward his mouth. She was fully exposed and vulnerable for the taking, and he was taking his time. He licked at the crease between her pelvis and leg, and then breathed heavily near her entrance. Sloane tugged on his hair, and before she could whimper his name again, he was burying himself inside her legs.

His tongue entered her first, licking against her folds before nuzzling her clit. The feel of his hot breath drove her forward, practically grinding against his face. His facial hair made it all the more pleasurable. Peter groaned at the sensation. Sloane bit the side of her hand when his tongue traced her clit, but nothing could stop her from panting out the words, "Peter, oh my god. Peter –"

Sweat beaded her forehead as Peter's tongue began to circle her clit. Her hips grinded against his tongue, getting as much friction as she could, even with his large hand holding her flat on the mattress. He started sucking at one point, his teeth skimming the edge, and then went back to circling her most sensitive area. Sloane moaned his name like a chant. Peter was eating her out like it was his first meal in days and she was a goddamn buffet.

"Peter," she mewled, "I'm going to –"

"Please," he begged, his tongue still inside her.

Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes, but Sloane couldn't help but lift her head to look at him. He was staring up at her now: pupils big and dilated, long lashes brushing her goosebumps. Just the sight of him like this was enough to send her over the edge. But then he removed the hand from her knee and inched it closer to her core. With his tongue circling her, with his mouth eating her like she was made of sugar and honey, Peter slipped one finger into her, grazing her overstimulated clit. And then came a second finger.

Sloane pulled at his hair. They were looking at each other again. And that was when she came all over his face.

Her orgasm felt like the final lap of a rollercoaster, all the adrenaline ricocheting out and consuming her whole. They moaned each other's names at the same time. Everything inside Sloane spilled out, but Peter didn't care. He lapped at her orgasm gratefully, not satisfied until he consumed every part of his meal. Sloane's chest raised heavily and she released her tight grip on his hair.

Before she could process whatever the fuck just happened, Peter climbed onto the bed and hovered over her. She could feel his cock practically thudding against his pants again. His lips were shining, and then he kissed her, letting Sloane taste herself. Unlike her previous assumption, she tasted nothing like sugar and honey. More like vodka and peppermint.

Lifting his face away, Sloane held his scruffy cheekbones with her two hands. "Peter," she said innocently, "I want you to fuck me now."

He nodded weakly. She didn't need to ask him twice. Peter got to his feet and shoved down his sweatpants and boxer briefs, letting his erection spring from the confines of the material. "Jesus Christ," Sloane said under her breath, staring at the size. And then added, a bit louder this time, "How the hell do you fit that in the suit?"

Peter snorted, eyes crinkling. It was so damn cute. "It's not without difficulty." He grabbed a condom from the box on his dresser and slid it on.

Sloane rolled her eyes and lifted the ends of her sweatshirt to pull it off. The hood somehow got stuck around her head, which was probably one of the least sexy things she could ever do. "Let me," Peter said, tugging the hoodie off. Her face was tinged pink with embarrassment, and he smiled, kissing both her cheeks.

She laid back down against the pillows, slightly covering her chest. Sloane was fully naked in front of Peter now, her form bare and inviting. She never wore a bra because her chest was pretty small, but it always made situations like this a little embarrassing, especially when she was partially sober. When she was drunk, she didn't worry about her insecurities. But sober ... everything was on full display: her body, her emotions, and everything in between.

He was hovering over her again, looking down at her covered breasts. "Sloane," he muttered.

"Yeah?" Her grey irises lifted to his.

He removed her hands from her chest. "Stop that."

"My tits are just kinda small."

"Do you want me to fuck them too?"

"No," she quipped, and then thought on it. "At least, not right now. Just tell me they look cute."

He grinned and kissed the area between her breasts. "They're very cute."

Aligning his hips with hers, Peter positioned himself so the tip of his cock was pressing faintly into her slit. Although this would've felt a little bit better if he didn't wear a condom, the faintest contact had her sucking in a breath. He could already tell how wet she was with her own slick and his saliva. One hand slid beneath her and locked around her hips, while the other caressed her flushed cheek. His nose was brushing hers, and they were now looking at each other, begging for silent confirmation. With a small nod from Sloane, Peter slipped all the way in smoothly.

Sloane felt like something inside her expanded to take all of him in. Tears stung; she was crumpled, but the slow glide of his large cock inside her went from a tinge of pain to utterly pleasurable. His angle brushed lightly against her clit, and she jolted, wrapping her legs around his middle to take him further. He bottomed out, and then pulled all the way back. Sloane whimpered. His stride was slow at first, letting her adjust, but after she urged him to go faster, there was nothing stopping him.

His hot breath fanned her face, his balls slapping against her backside. Sloane's mouth went wide, unable to keep her screams at bay. As she fell apart at his pace, Peter took that hand that had been touching her face and lowered his fingers. His index finger, or thumb – she couldn't quite keep anything straight at that moment – circled her clit again, stroking hard. "You like that?" He asked, equal parts sincerely and filthy.

Sloane pleaded, "F – Fuck, don't stop. Please, Peter –"

He kept pounding into her, and the overstimulation with his fingers was one of the best things she ever experienced with a sexual partner. He slid the hand that had been holding her hips out and played with her nipples, watching as they turned to hard pebbles at his touch. Sloane clearly liked it, because she slapped her hand on top of his to keep it there. Peter was trying to kiss her, but she couldn't stop whimpering his name – begging him to keep going, to never stop touching her. And she meant it. She was never going to leave Queens if sex with Peter Parker was always going to be this good.

Sloane tightened around his cock as her second orgasm approached. Peter was losing speed, his thrusts becoming slow. "Sl – Sloane," he rasped, "I'm close."

"It's okay," she said, knowing that she'd be cumming shortly after. Their eyes opened at the same time, refusing to break contact. Reaching down, Sloane cupped his balls and ran her thumb along the sensitive area. That had Peter choking her name out again – several times – and his cock throbbed before climaxing.

Nothing could stop him from touching her though. Peter added a second finger to her clit, rubbing firmer. Her walls spasmed. Her hips stuttered. Peter's cock twitched inside her at the sensation. He was watching her, wanting to see her eyes roll back as he made her cum. She could only count on one hand the number of times a man had been able to get her there. No one seemed to have a touch like Peter.

With one last circle, Sloane released a breathy whine of his name, and her orgasm shot through her, coating his fingers. Her gut tightened and released as she caught her breath. Peter lifted his hand and tasted her once again, one side of his mouth tilted up.

The room was densely quiet, except for the sounds of their panting. Sloane could just hear the TV playing a sitcom in his tiny living room. Sweat trickled down the side of her face from the combination of what they'd just done and his heater blasting. The bedroom smelled vile, like sex and sweat and a Dollar Store air diffuser. Peter pulled out of her and rolled the condom off before chucking it in a tiny trash can.

Sloane blinked and held a hand to her shaking chest. "Peter Parker," she breathed heavily, "where the hell did you learn all of that?"

━━━━━━

She came back from the bathroom to find Peter passed out in his bed, one arm covering his face as he snored. Heaving a sigh, Sloane climbed into bed next to him, just a few inches away, and laid on her back. She laced her fingers on top of her bare chest and stared up at the ceiling.

Peter's snores filled the room – no, actually, he just breathed heavily when he slept. It was reminding Sloane of the way he panted as he pounded his hips into hers, relentless, and – Ugh. She needed to stop thinking about this before she got horny all over again. Looking at the cracks in the ceiling, Sloane contemplated her life's decisions. She'd probably just ruined everything – not only their relationship but their working partnership too. Should she just leave now while Peter was asleep? Pretend like nothing ever happened the next day, even though she desperately wanted the opposite?

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sloane stood from the squeaky mattress and pulled on her underwear. She went searching for her pants on the floor when she heard behind her, "Are you leaving?"

She turned slowly on her heel. Peter was placing his glasses crookedly on his nose. "I didn't know I was making that much noise," she said.

"You weren't," he said, sitting up. "I was only half asleep."

"Oh," she muttered, and then found her pants at the end of the bed. She picked them up with one hand. "I thought ... you'd want me to leave."

"I don't want you to leave. Do you want to leave?"

Yes, her conscious said, it would be better if you left. But to hell with her conscious. She didn't care if this was going to end badly in the end. Come what may.

With a small smile, she jumped back into bed beside him and said, "No." She scooted close to him, and he wrapped his arms around her immediately, bringing her close to his chest. Sloane could hear his heartbeat where she laid her head. She reached over and placed one hand on his bicep, caressing the skin with her thumb. The hairs on his arm stood up.

"Shitty timing but," he huffed, "I just wanted to apologize again for not telling you. I understand if you can't forgive me."

"It sucked finding out. I get why you did it though. Just don't do it again." She then laughed to herself. "But truthfully, Peter? You were forgiven the second you ate me out."

Peter's tongue nervously darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Should we put a label on this?"

"I don't know. Should we?" She gazed up at him and played with his messy hair. "What about when the story ends and I move back to Vermont?"

"We can play it by ear."

Sloane gave him a playful, contemplating look. "I don't know if I want to be one of Spider-Man's many bitches."

"Trust me, Spider-Man doesn't get a lot these days," he chuckled. "Hardly any."

"Even with the suit?"

"Even with the suit," he sighed. Sloane tilted her head up, allowing him to meet her eyes and stroke her cheek. "You know what I think?"

"Can't say I do."

"I think you should let me take you out on many more dates, and you should stay at my place any time you want."

Her brow shot up. "So we're definitely not a strictly working partnership anymore."

"I'd say so." He shrugged.

That was a lot to take in. While Sloane was confident in wanting the same thing, the state of their relationship changing made her stomach curve with unease. She needed a drink. Conveniently, Peter had a bottle of whiskey just on the edge of his nightstand, threatening to fall off. Sloane swiped it from the corner and twisted the lid, taking a swig. Her nerves settled instantly.

"I've never seen someone drink as much as you do," he commented.

She looked at him with one brow lifted. "Says the person with a bottle of Jack on their nightstand."

"Fair point," he replied. "You're changing the subject though."

Sloane gave a heavy sigh. She took one last gulp before screwing the cap back on and setting it to the side. "Do you really wanna know?" She asked, earning a nod from him. "I became a depressed alcoholic after my dad died. It was just ... a lot to handle when I was fifteen, so I turned to drinking to cope." She fought the urge to grab the bottle again. "Today was actually the first time in a long while that I visited his grave. And it was fucking defaced." Sloane sniffled and kept her tears at bay. "Reminding me yet again that there's still a killer on the loose."

Peter placed a hand under her chin and lifted it in his direction. "I'm sorry," he said, before eventually looking away. "I – um ... I started too after losing Gwen. I had an angry period during my grieving process. College almost didn't happen after a couple stunts I pulled. I've moved on because — well, that's all you can do. But I'll never forgive myself for not being able to save Gwen ... which is what usually leads to me grabbing that whiskey bottle. I'm not exactly trying to stop, but ... some days are better than others. Recently, when the Jawbreaker claims another victim – those have been some pretty heavy drinking nights."

Sloane frowned, not knowing how to comfort him. Peter was a lot better at doing that than her.

He raised his hand and pointed in the direction of his dresser. There was a map of Queens pinned to the wall that she hadn't noticed before. "I've actually been mapping out where all the murders take place, including the street names and dates."

Sloane got to her feet and walked over to the map. She scanned the crinkled paper. He made note of each murder site with a push pin and then wrote the date, time, and victim next to it in blue ink. Sloane's eyes narrowed when she noticed something strange. All the murders so far had been executed around one area of the city. She plucked a pencil from a mason jar holding other writing utensils and began to trace the circle for him to see.

"What are you doing?" He stood from the bed and pulled his boxer briefs back on from where they sat on the floor.

She finished her circle and pointed to it with the eraser. "Don't you see? The murders are happening in this large center of Queens. Around the northwest part, to be exact."

"Holy shit," Peter muttered, appearing on her right. "How did I not notice that before?" He scrutinized the map for a moment, and then grabbed a pencil of his own. "There's a bar in Woodside," he continued, marking the street he was thinking of. "It's conveniently in the center of this entire area. I've noticed how packed it gets at night. The Jawbreaker has to hit it soon. They are at their peak right now, and it's right in the middle of their area. A lot of traffic, especially with young people."

"Why would a killer be stupid enough to go to the most popular bar where all their killings take place?"

Peter smirked, as if it were obvious. "Because they're a murderer, Sloane. The only thing they're smart at is the kill."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: alright, well . LOL

needless to say, beyond this point, this story is meant for an 18+ AUDIENCE. this story has always been rated mature because of all the violence, and alcoholism, and sloane's general horniness, and yada yada yada, but after this point there's gonna be a fair amount of smut. I know people under 18+ are still gonna read this and I can't stop them (I did it when I was a teen obvi LMAO), but if you're under 18, just try not to interact with any of these kinda chapters because it's uncomfy for those who are 18+!!

ALSO!!! NEW BEAUTIFUL COVER WAS MADE BY THE EVER-TALENTED, soulofstaars!!!!!

hope you guys enjoyed! 💘