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Peter took a deep breath and pursed his lips, assessing the situation. Not only was he late, he had only gotten 3 lousy daisies, and now he was being harassed by some snooty usher. This was not his day at all.

“Please, you have to let me in,” Peter tried again, “she’s really expecting me.”

“That may be, but it goes against the rules to admit anyone after the play has started.” The guy shrugged and smirked, irritating Peter.

“There’s nothing I can do?”

The guy crossed his arms and raised a brow, thrusting his chin out as he thought it over.

“Well,” he said, dragging the word out. “Perhaps there’s one thing...”

Hope sprang up in Peter and he stood up straighter. “What? Anything, please.”

The guy threw a quick glance around the lobby, and Peter did the same. There was no one else around. Then the guy jerked his head towards the hallway.

“I don’t get it,” Peter said.

The guy reached out and pressed a finger to Peter’s lips, startling him. “Shhh. Just follow me.”

Peter wasn’t sure what was going on, but he trailed after the guy. They came to a stop at the door for the men’s restroom, and Peter frowned.

“I don’t have to go,” he said, sounding uncertain.

“Me neither,” the usher said, pushing open the door. “After you.”

Peter stepped inside, not surprised to see that all four stalls were empty, and whirling around when he heard the door shut and the lock click into place.

“What are you-?”

Peter’s question was abruptly cut off by the other man’s lips covering his in a hard kiss.

“Whoa, whoa!” Peter cried, backing away and hitting a sink. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You want into the show?” the usher asked.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then you do one thing for me.”

Peter gulped. “What?”

“Get me off.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter how you do it. Suck me, jerk me, whatever. Just do it. And do it fast.”

Holy shit, this guy is serious, Peter thought, his hands gripping the edge of the sink behind him.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go before you miss the entire show.”

Peter blinked and pushed himself forward, a new resolve bubbling somewhere inside. He could do this. For Mary Jane, he could do this.

His cock twitched in anticipation as the usher stepped forward and pressed himself against Peter’s body.

And maybe for me too, he thought.

Hands made their way under Peter’s jacket, tugging his shirt from his pants. The guy was older, probably way more experienced, and not entirely bad looking. Peter caught a glimpse of them in the bathroom mirror, saw the usher slowly working his way towards Peter’s pants.

Peter let out a groan as his cock jerked to attention.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be pleasuring me?” the usher said, sounding a little confused.

Peter blushed. “Oh yeah. Um, wait. What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah, I can’t call you ‘snooty usher’ the whole time.”

“You think I’m snooty?”

“Uh...”

“Bruce,” the guy said. “Name’s Bruce. And you are?”

“Peter.”

“Now that the niceties are out of the way...”

Peter lowered himself to the floor, thankful it appeared clean, and pulled Bruce’s belt apart, then unzipped his black pants. He felt a hardness against the palm of his hand and applied a slight pressure. Bruce let out a little gasp, winding his fingers through Peter’s hair.

Peter pulled at the boxer shorts, his eyes widening at the length and width of Bruce’s dick, ready and waiting to be taken care of. Peter grasped it with one hand, placing his other hand at Bruce’s waist to balance himself.

He encircled Bruce’s cock with his mouth, being careful not to scrape his teeth against skin, then began flicking his wrist back and forth, causing Bruce to become even impossibly harder.

“Jesus,” Bruce moaned.

Peter licked and sucked, moving his mouth up and down, jerking with his hand. Bruce grabbed onto Peter’s shoulders and squeezed, his knees bending slightly, pushing against Peter’s chest. Peter dug his fingers into Bruce’s waist, trying hard to remain upright, his own cock straining in his pants, screaming for release.

Bruce shuddered, his breath coming out in one long whoosh, and he collapsed to his knees. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and wrapped his arms around Bruce, just holding him while he spiraled back to earth.

After a moment, Bruce raised his head and looked at Peter. He grinned slyly and said, “That’s some serious wrist action you’ve got going there.”

“Oh well, thanks,” Peter said, not hiding his own smile.

Bruce trailed a hand down Peter’s chest, an expression of surprise crossing his face. “Is it just me, or are you really buff under that shirt?”

“I work out a little,” Peter said.

“I’ll say.”

Bruce rested his hand on Peter’s crotch.

“You want to head on into the show now?” he asked.

Peter inched closer. “Maybe I’ll catch it tomorrow night.”

~*~*~

Several days later, Bruce was at home, sitting down to watch the local news. The station was thrilled to bring the viewers exclusive footage of Spider-Man swinging his way through the city on his web.

Bruce, like most others, was intrigued by Spider-Man and focused on the television, leaning forward in his recliner. The costumed hero perched on a flag pole outside a huge bank, extended his hand and with a flick of his wrist, shot out a strand of web, then flew off into the air.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the screen. He knew that wrist flick. He dreamed about that wrist flick.

Bruce laughed and shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he changed the channel.

~end