Red and Red

The rooftop of Peter’s Brooklyn apartment was quiet, the city’s hum a distant murmur below. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. Wanda stood at the edge, her red cloak discarded on the fire escape, leaving her in a simple black tank top and jeans. Her auburn hair caught the moonlight as she turned to Peter, who leaned against the brick wall, mask off, his brown eyes soft but intense.

“You’re staring,” she said, a playful edge to her voice, though her fingers twitched with a faint red glow.

“Can you blame me?” Peter stepped closer, his voice low, a little rough from the night’s patrol. “You’re… unreal.”

Wanda’s lips curved into a smirk. “Careful, Parker. I might make you regret that.”

He closed the distance, his hand brushing her waist, tentative at first. “Try me.”

Her magic flickered, a warm pulse that danced across his skin, teasing, like a whisper of silk. She pressed herself against him, her breath hot against his neck. “You sure you can keep up with a witch?”

Peter’s hands found her hips, pulling her closer. “I’ve fought aliens. I’ll take my chances.”

Their lips crashed together, hungry, ****. Wanda tasted like cinnamon and danger, her tongue teasing his as her fingers tangled in his hair. Peter groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding under her tank top, tracing the curve of her spine. Her skin was warm, electric, and when her magic pulsed again, it sent a shiver through him, igniting every nerve.

“Wanda…” he murmured, voice thick as she nipped at his jaw, her hands tugging at his suit. The fabric gave way under her fingers—part magic, part impatience—revealing the lean muscle beneath. She traced the scars across his chest, her touch both gentle and possessive.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her accent thicker now, raw with want. Her magic swirled, lifting them an inch off the ground, weightless, as she pushed him back against the wall. The sensation was dizzying, her power wrapping them in a cocoon of red light, warm and pulsing like a heartbeat.

Peter’s hands roamed lower, slipping beneath her jeans, gripping her thighs. She gasped, her head tilting back as he kissed down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said, half-laughing, half-growling.

“Not yet,” she teased, her magic tugging at his belt with a flick of her wrist. His pants hit the ground, and she pressed herself closer, her body flush against his. The heat between them was unbearable, every touch amplified by her power—sparks of pleasure that made his knees buckle.

Wanda’s eyes glowed faintly as she guided him down, the rooftop fading into a haze of red and starlight. She straddled him, her movements slow, deliberate, savoring every shudder that ran through him. Peter’s hands gripped her waist, guiding her as she moved, her magic weaving threads of sensation that danced across their skin—warm, tingling, overwhelming.

“God, Wanda…” His voice broke as she leaned down, kissing him deeply, her hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the pulse of her magic. Every thrust, every gasp, was heightened, her power amplifying their connection until it felt like they were unraveling the universe itself.

She moaned his name, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rode the edge, her magic flaring brighter with every wave of pleasure. Peter’s hands tightened, pulling her closer, losing himself in her—her heat, her power, her everything. When they finally tipped over, it was together, a burst of red light and raw emotion that left them trembling, breathless, tangled in each other.

For a moment, they just lay there, the city forgotten, her head on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her back. Wanda’s magic faded, leaving only the warmth of their bodies and the quiet thud of their hearts.

“You okay?” Peter asked, voice soft, a little awed.

Wanda smiled against his skin. “Better than okay, Spider-Boy.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “We’re doing that again.”

“Count on it,” she murmured, her lips brushing his as the night wrapped them in its embrace.