A/N: Ah~ his is going to be a bit emotional~~
*****
Mothers
Madison traced lazy circles on Peter's chest, the way someone doodles on a napkin when they're half-asleep and half-bored. Not trying to turn him on—just using his pecs like a fidget spinner she'd owned for years. Familiar. Soothing.
The touch that only exists after you've seen someone puke from the flu and still crawled into bed with them the next night.
They were tangled in the dark, her body tucked against his like a comma in a long, complicated sentence. Madison's breathing had gone slow and even, sliding toward sleep, while Peter's stayed quick and shallow—his cock half-hard against her thigh simply because she was naked and warm and there.
Proximity tax.
Peter was wide awake, eyes open, brain spinning like a hamster on espresso running threat models, logistics, and—occasionally—a vivid mental replay of bending someone over the kitchen island.
Three days. No real sleep in three days.
