A/N: Peter Parker is older, married to reader, and is a professional baseball player~
You watch as he throws yet another ball, walking the current batter to first base. Sighing, you anxiously pick the skin around your nails, wishing you could help him in some way. The coach begins to walk across the field, and he hangs his head, understanding that he’s probably done pitching this game. You can see the frustration on his face as he tries to convince his coach that he can continue.
“It’s okay, baby!” You yell, even though he can’t hear you from where you are sitting. He disappears into the dugout and into the locker room. Your heart sinks because you know he does this when he needs to clear his head. You shuffle out of the stands, heading as quickly as you can toward the locker room. Being his wife, you have unlimited access to the locker room, dugout, and gym because it’s a home game. At away games, your access dwindles to just the locker room. Peering around the corner, you see him sitting with his back to you, hunched over, and rubbing his neck. You silently enter and begin massaging his shoulders. He jumps, startled. “Sorry, baby,” you say. “It’s just me.” Peter’s face lights up when he realizes it’s you and engulfs you in a hug. He smells like a mixture of grass, sweat, and his cologne.
“I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.
“You just saw me before the game, love.” He smiles, the dimples flashing. “Are you okay?” Peter nods slowly, but you can tell he’s upset. “Can I do anything?”
“No, I have to bat soon. Just seeing you helped.” He captures your lips with his, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. You open to him instantly. A soft moan escapes you as he bites your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. A twinge of pleasure shoots through you from the action.
“Baby… don’t tease me when you can’t do anything,” you whine after he breaks the kiss. There’s a small smirk on his face.
“Just a little taste for later,” he whispers into your ear. Goosebumps dot your arms as a shiver runs down your spine. You stick your bottom lip out in a small pout, crossing your arms. He licks the outer shell of your ear. “Patience, my love. You’ll get your fill after the game.” You bite your lip, feeling yourself grow wetter from the thoughts that are now swirling in your brain. Feeling bold, you reach down, pressing against his cup.
“I can’t wait, baby,” you say. Peter growls from your touch.
“You’ll pay for that later.”
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You sit back in the stands behind the dugout and wait patiently. His team is still on the defence and the opposing team has scored since you last saw the scoreboard. Eventually, it’s his turn to bat, and you sit on the edge of your seat, trying to get the best view. The first pitch is thrown, and he fouls it into the stands. The second pitch is thrown, and it barely makes it across the home plate. Another pitch, another foul. That makes it two strikes, one ball.
“C’mon, baby,” you whisper to yourself. You hope that he makes the right call about the next pitch. He has a tendency to try to swing, aiming for the home run when he needs to be more patient. He motions to the umpire and steps away from home plate, adjusting his gloves. As he does, he searches the crowd, catching your eye. You give him a quick thumbs up before he returns to the plate. You hold your breath. The pitch is thrown, and he swings. But it’s too high. He struck out. You watch as his mouth sets into a tight line while he walks off the field, gripping the bat tightly.
“You okay, darling?” you ask later in the empty locker room. The rest of the team has already left, leaving you and him alone with just the smell of sweat and grass. He doesn’t answer right away, packing his equipment roughly into his bag. “Baby?” You gently touch his arm, feeling the ripple of muscle in his bicep.
