Archive of Our Own

Peter wasn’t sure how the jumbled mess of his life had organized itself to get him where he was now. When thinking back on his pathetic teenage years and remembering all the D-list high school clichés he’d gone through—swirleys, getting stuffed in lockers, tripped in the halls—it was an amazement in itself that he’d ever come into contact with the Human Torch, let alone date him.

He’d met Johnny through one of the few things he was actually good at: photography, and one of the traits that earned him good shots: stupidity. Taking photos of superheroes in action sounded great on paper, which was how the proposition at the Daily Bugle had been made to Peter, but when you take into account the frequent lazers, explosions, and falling buildings that accompany super fights you start to reconsider the perceived glamour.

Still, Peter possessed that previously stated element of stupidity, a student debt, and his own rent to pay ever since he’d moved out of his Aunt May’s place, so he got front-row seats to see the Fantastic Four duke it out against some killer robots. He’d managed to snag a few cool shots of Mr. Fantastic lassoing a bot with his own arm and one of the Thing with his fist cleaved through three bots at once. The pictures of the Invisible Woman hadn’t turned out so great, on account of her being invisible and all, but if he was being honest, he only had eyes for one hero.

The Human Torch cut a blazing trail across the sky, flames dancing along his lean body. He was brilliant in action; swooping down on the bots like a speeding comet and blasting them apart with the ease of swatting flies. It was difficult to catch a shot of him where he wasn’t an orange blur, but Peter managed to get a few a split second before he dove—suspended in the air, body arched for the strike. There was a strange beauty in the way the Torch flew, with the freedom and danger of a shooting star. Peter caught a shot of him hovering against the sky, stark and stunning as the sun itself. Peter was proud of those shots.

He was just beginning to feel like he was accomplishing something when a stray robot took an interest in him and fired a lazer that singed the tips of his hair.
He stumbled back from the edge of the high-rise he’d been perched on when the bot swooped in and swung at Peter with a force that would put any of his past bullies to shame. He landed heavily on his back, pain lancing up his spine. He grit his teeth and forced his feet to start pushing and get him the hell out of there. But the bot was already closing in, its single red eye growing brighter in preparation of vaporizing Peter.

All Peter could think in the face of his impending doom was I wish I’d given more people the finger.

A bright blast of orange filled his vision. Peter threw his arms up, shielding his face from the intense heat but after a moment realized he wasn’t writhing in agony and peeked between his fingers. All that remained of the murder-bot was a few scraps of metal and shattered red glass. Towering over the smoking wreckage was Johnny Storm, all lit up and staring at Peter with equal measures of surprise and confusion.

“Uhh…” Peter managed.

“What’re you doing up here?” Torch asked him. “Usually the paps settle for post-smack down shots.”

His eyes had settled on Peter’s camera, which had made it through the ordeal unscathed. Peter held it closer to his chest and watched as Torch nimbly dropped to the ground and snuffed his flames out, revealing the natural state of Johnny Storm. He was Peter’s age but seemed to have mastered the state of early twenties much better than he had. He’d just been battling killer robots but Johnny’s blonde hair fell perfectly over his forehead and his uniform was crisp, without a trace of soot.

He held a gloved hand out to Peter, who stared at it for an inappropriate amount of time before accepting. Johnny’s hand was firm and warm in his, hauling him easily to his feet. Peter didn’t want to let go but knew it would be weird if he just stood there, holding Johnny’s hand until he burnt Peter’s arm off.
Peter pulled back his hand and scratched his neck. Johnny was still looking at him expectantly.

“Those’re no good,” Peter said. “Anyone can snap a few shots of you guys just standing around. The real action’s in, uh…well, the action.” Johnny quirked an eyebrow and Peter added, “and I’m not a ‘pap’.”

Johnny grinned, teeth all a movie star smile, and pointed to Peter’s camera. “Well, c’mon then. Let’s see some ‘action’.”

Peter was self-conscious as he flicked through the shots he’d taken, the Human Torch peering over his shoulder, so close they were almost cheek-to-cheek. Johnny chuckled at the shots of his teammates but let out a little “ah!” when his picture popped up. He snatched the camera from Peter’s hands and stepped away to closely examine the shots. He made little appreciative noises as he flicked through the photos.

“These’re nice.” He whistled low. “Way better than all that crap on the news.” He looked up at Peter, his blue eyes sparkling. “Not bad.”

Peter’s mouth quirked into something he hoped resembled a smile. He shrugged, unable to speak. His face was burning under that blue stare. Who knew that two little words from Johnny Storm could reduce him to pile of mush?

Johnny was in the process of asking for copies when the remainder of the Fantastic Four landed around them.

Peter’s mouth went dry at the sight of Dr. Richards. He was something of a boyhood hero to Peter. Having collected every scientific journal his work had ever appeared in from the time he was twelve, Peter had no problem admitting he saw Dr. Richards as something of an idle. Then there was the fact that he was literally a superhero.

Dr. Richards took in he and Johnny with one sweep of his eyes. “We’re all clear on the ground.”

Susan Storm interjected, “so nice of you to help out, Johnny.” She aimed an icy glare at her brother.

“Hey, I was rescuing a citizen,” he said defensively, then tossed another grin at Peter. “Isn’t that right, camera guy?”

All eyes turned to him.

“You guys’re really cool,” he blurted and immediately wished the robot had just put an end to him.

Johnny laughed. Dr. Richards and Sue Storm smiled indulgently. Ben Grimm…well, he was hard to read but Peter was pretty sure he perked up a little more.

“We’re just here to help,” Dr. Richards said with a pat to Peter’s shoulder.

Peter sucked in a breath. He touched me.

Dr. Richards must’ve thought he’d seized up in fear and asked, “Are you going to be alright getting back down?”

Peter nodded mutely then threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Stairs.”

“Okay,” the gruff voice of Ben Grimm said. “We all good here? Now, can we call it a day? My back’s killin’ me.”

“You want me to give you a massage?” Johnny asked, not missing a beat.

The Thing looked unimpressed. “There’re many things I’d like ya to do, Matchstick. Most of ‘em involve stickin’ a cork in it.”

“Ouch. That hurts, Ben.”

Ben Grimm just shook his head.

“We should get back though,” Sue said, pulling out a remote and pressing the single red button in its center. A moment later the Fantasticar was hovering beside the building.

The Fantastic Four piled into the car and Johnny was about to follow suit when he stopped and turned to Peter.

“You should-“ he appeared to struggle for the words. It surprised Peter. “Take our pictures again some time.” He smirked. “Y’know, ‘cause we’re all so cool.”

“You thought you were included in that?” Peter quipped back, not even realising what he’d said until he’d said it.

Johnny laid a hand on his chest. “Ouch. What is it with everyone today?” He stepped onto the ledge of the building and his flames sparked to life, engulfing him in an instant. “Guess I’ll see you around, camera guy.”

“It’s Peter,” he interjected. It was very important to him for some reason that Johnny not just know him as ‘camera guy’ in his mind.

Johnny smiled at that. “Okay, Peter. See ya ‘round.” He gave him a little wave then leaped off the building.

Peter watched as he flew away after his teammates, the orange of his fire matching the sunset sky. And that was how he first met the Human Torch.

After that it was inevitable. Peter had become slightly infatuated and requested cover of any and all Fantastic Four related events at the Bugle. Villains continued to pick fights and he continued to take pictures of the battles, which meant that he got to see quite a lot of Johnny Storm and his team.

“Hey, Peter,” Johnny said, landing in front of him on the roof he’d been situated. His flames disappeared with a whoosh!

Peter’s stomach flipped. Johnny had remembered his name. It mattered more than it should have.

“Enjoy fight night?” Johnny asked.

Peter glanced at his watch. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

Johnny waved a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”

Peter tossed him last weeks’ edition of the Daily Bugle. The cover showed an impressive shot Peter had taken of the Thing tossing a robot twenty feet in the air while the Invisible Woman blasted a horde with a force field.

“Ah, what?” Johnny complained. “I’m not even in it.”

“Not true.” Peter pointed to the top right corner, where you could just see a blurry flaming boot. “There you are.”

Johnny groaned, buried his face in the newspaper and Peter found himself laughing. He discovered he rather enjoyed laughing at the expense of Johnny Storm.

“You like him.”

Peter glanced up from the coffee table, where he’d lain out his latest scoop of pictures, to Mary Jane’s smug grin. Why he invited this girl over to help him sort through photos when he knew she’d needle him about his less-than-subtle crush on the Human Torch was beyond him. He tried to play it cool.

“Everyone likes him,” he shrugged.

MJ just sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come off it, Pete. Who’re you fooling?”

“My subconscious.”

She scoffed, splaying her freckled arms flat on the table. She traced a photo he’d taken of Johnny with her finger. He was landing on the ground beside his sister, in the process of extinguishing his flames. If you squinted, you just make out the icy blue of his eyes.

“Hey, I mean, I get it, y’know,” MJ said, flicking the photo to Peter. “He’s a superdude. He’s young, he’s hot, and everyone wants a piece of him. Got that old Hollywood leading man vibe goin’ on. I get it.”

Peter just said, “’superdude’?

”
Mary Jane just flicked another photo at him. “I mean, who doesn’t wanna date a superhero, right?”

Peter stared at the picture MJ had thrown at him. It was Johnny in a blaze of glory, raining fireballs down on a horde of Magneto’s goons. It was like a window into a whole other world; one he had no part in.

“Right,” he murmured.

It went on like that; Peter taking photos of the FF kicking butt, Johnny flying over to meet up with him afterwards, the two of them cracking jokes like they’d known each other for years. After it appeared that Peter was a permanent fixture to their New York battles, Johnny began posing. Half the pictures he took of him were unusable since he was either winking at the camera, or making finger guns (with fire sparking from the tips), or something else that would get Peter a good chewing out if he gave them to J. Jonah Jameson. He kept those ones for himself.

By the fifth time the other Fantastic Four members had learned his name. Ben had even given him a fist bump when Peter showed him a shot he’d managed to snag of him giving a bank robber a wedgie.

By the seventh time Dr. Richards had offered to give him a lift back to his apartment and he got to ride in the Fantasticar, fulfilling several of his fantasies.

By the eighth time Johnny asked to grab hotdogs. It was great until a group of girls showed up and asked Peter to take their photo with Johnny. It was only slightly different to what he usually did anyway but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed, especially when one girl kissed Johnny on the cheek. But whatever.

By the ninth time he had lunch with the Storm siblings. Johnny attempted to juggle the salt and pepper shakers but ended up dropping them on his head when Sue turned them invisible. Peter had almost gotten them kicked out with how loud his laughter was. Johnny had just grumbled the whole time.

“It’s not funny. I hate both of you.”

“No need to be so salty.”

“I will melt your mouth off.

“Oolala.”

“Shut up.”

By the eleventh time Peter had missed a few fights due to a crippling stomach bug that had kept him bed-ridden for a week and spontaneously puking for another. When he arrived on the scene Johnny was toe-to-toe with a guy outfitted with what looked like giant dragonfly wings. He snapped a shot and Johnny swiveled at the flash of the camera. Their gazes locked for a moment and Johnny’s whole face lit up (which was impressive seeing as he was on fire). Peter was about to yell at him to pay attention to the fight when Dragonfly-Man whacked Johnny upside the chin with what looked like a crowbar. Peter’s heart surged up his throat. Johnny flipped over a few times in the air before righting himself. He spat a wad of blood, rubbed his already darkening jaw and narrowed his eyes.

Dragonfly-Man, whose name turned out to be Darryl, was swiftly dealt with. Peter took the elevator down to the ground floor. Johnny rushed him the second he stepped out the door.

“Where’ve you been?” he demanded. His cheeks were flushed, his hair slightly disheveled. It was a new look for him.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Sick? I didn’t think you’d appreciate me sneezing all over you in the wake of your glorious victories.”

Johnny went to say something but Ben cut him off.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s just been missin’ ya.”

The FF were standing not far away, the unconscious Darryl slung over Ben’s shoulder.

Johnny scowled at him. “I was not.” He whirled back to Peter. “You just missed this really epic fight we had with this gang of mutants. I was looking to make the front cover.”

Peter laughed softly. “You’re still not letting that go?”

“How does Nova make the cover and not me, huh? What’s the world come to?”

“Their senses.”

Ben gave him a nod of approval.

Johnny sighed, looked to his teammates, then back to Peter. His brow was furrowed but after he few seconds he seemed to make up his mind about something and spoke to his team.

“Hey, uh, it’s getting dark. Why don’t I take Pete back to his place while you guys wait for the cops?”

Ben, Sue, and Reed looked at each other and something passed between them. They all nodded in unison and told Johnny that was ‘a very good idea.’ They then proceeded to wave pleasantly, giant smiles on all their faces, as Johnny hauled Peter onto the street and all but stuffed him into his car.

Once they were driving and Peter had a chance to shake off the weirdness of what had just happened he turned to Johnny.

“You drive to your fights?”

Johnny rolled his sculpted shoulders. He was still in his suit and the sight of a superhero driving a car struck Peter as funny.

“I was in the neighbourhood and saw that guy trying to break into a high rise. It was kinda sad, really.”

Peter snorted. He grabbed the jeans lying discarded at his feet, most likely the jeans Johnny had been wearing before he saw a need for his fire. Just as Peter had suspected, Johnny’s phone was in his back pocket. He swiped through Johnny’s music until he noticed a playlist labeled ‘FLAME ON!!’ It contained over fifty songs.

“Do you have every fire-related song in existence?”

“Only the good ones,” Johnny smirked.

So, Peter was treated to taking part in sloppy duets of Disco Inferno, Hot Stuff and Burning Love until they reached his apartment. It was those moments, where it was just the two of them, goofing off, laughing and completely at ease with each other that Peter loved the most. Where Johnny wasn’t being the Human Torch and chatting up reporters, where he only had eyes for him and gave Peter that smile that made him warmer than any fire could. Those were the moments he savoured, held close, and played in his mind when he was feeling down. Just remembering a stupid joke Johnny had made or any of the ridiculous poses he’d done for the camera was all it took to lift his mood.

They pulled up outside of Peter’s building too soon. He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt, and went to open his door when Johnny’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Peter, alarmed, swung around to face Johnny, who was looking at him intently, his blonde eyebrows furrowed.

“Pete,” he said, breathless.

“Y-Yeah?” Peter replied, a distant ringing in his ears.

Johnny’s lips parted, presumably to speak, but then he surged forward and dragged Peter to him at the same time. They met in the middle and suddenly Johnny was kissing him. He, Johnny Storm, was kissing him, Peter Parker. It took him a moment, but once he’d taken that information and filed it in his brain under the WHAT THE HELL section, he responded.

His glasses knocked against Johnny’s nose but he didn’t care. Johnny’s mouth was hot against his. All of him was. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he discovered a brand of Johnny’s hand on his arm from where he was gripping him. He sighed against Peter’s mouth as if in great relief, kissed him chastely once more then pulled back just enough to look Peter in the eye.

“I will bribe someone to put you on the cover,” Peter said thickly and Johnny laughed, knocking their foreheads together.

Once Peter stood on the sidewalk Johnny pulled the car around and leaned out the window.

“Call me!” he yelled then sped off.

Peter waved weakly after him.

And that was how it happened. Peter and Johnny were dating. Peter was Johnny’s boyfriend. Johnny was Peter’s boyfriend. No matter how many times or in what way he said it, Peter couldn’t make sense of it. Johnny Storm was a part of New York’s darling Fantastic Four, he was a hotshot superhero playboy with his pick of any number of adoring fans, and he’d chosen Peter.

How could he ever live up to that?

Dating Johnny made his life pass quicker. When they were together it was always over too fast, and between those moments Peter worked in blur at the Bugle or at home, his phone buzzing every two seconds with a text from Johnny. They saw each other almost everyday, whether it was at the Baxter Building, Peter’s apartment, or battle sights. It seemed every spare second he had he spent with Johnny. And Johnny engulfed Peter’s vision when he was with him, absorbing all his focus and demanding his attention. He was kind of high-maintenance like that. It only made Peter fonder of him.

Johnny enjoyed the simple things like going to the movies, eating out at diners, or just lounging around, ordering take-out and watching T.V. No matter what they were doing though, Johnny was always touching him in some way. He would have his fingers threaded through Peter’s when they were walking, his arm was around Peter’s shoulders when they were sitting, or he would just outright lie on Peter’s lap when they were lazing about. Johnny was just a very touchy-feely guy. Most of the time it wasn’t even sexual.

Except when it was.

Johnny was constantly sneaking kisses when no one was looking and putting on a show when they were. Ben had left the dinner table one night when Peter was over and Johnny had decided to lick a drop of spaghetti sauce from his lip. His apartment, with no Bens to walk in on them, saw many days with Peter’s back pressed into his old couch, Johnny hovering over him, hot mouth and hands exploring skin. It didn’t take long for things to develop into more, and pretty soon Peter could add ‘great in bed’ to the annoyingly long list of things Johnny was good.

Johnny had taken the liberty of announcing their relationship to the world in a rather…untraditional way. Peter had been at one of Johnny’s car races as a photographer and got a great shot of him, post-winning, pulling his helmet off and shaking out his blonde locks. He’d tossed his helmet to a crewman, sauntered through the crowd of reporters and casually slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders before dragging him into a kiss. There was a frenzy of flashes and questions all around them, not helping Peter’s reeling head in the slightest.

“The secret to success,” Johnny said, all smiles and glamour, “is this: date a cute guy who makes you look good on and off the page.”

More flashes and reporters voices were hurled at them. Johnny smiled through it all and answered questions about how they’d met, gotten together, etc. Peter just stared, his equilibrium thrown out the window, down the barrel of a huge news camera and thought Am I on T.V?

Mary Jane wouldn’t stop laughing at him.

“Your face!” she kept cackling and descending into fits of laughter.

Peter just groaned, sinking further into the couch. His and Johnny’s little post-race interview was playing on a loop on every news station he turned to. While Johnny was all debonair grace, smoothly talking to the reporters, Peter was looking like a stunned mullet, staring blankly ahead, and mouth open in a little O. The headlines underneath read ‘Johnny Storm shocks world with surprise love affair to unknown reporter. Real life Prince and Pauper story?’

“I can’t believe this,” he mumbled, staring at the T.V between his fingers.

MJ managed to cease from her giggling a moment. “What? You thought you could date Johnny Storm and not be paraded in front of the whole world? News flash, Tiger: you’re news.”

He flicked to channel six. Their kiss was playing as the female news anchor jokingly fanned herself. MJ hummed, studying the screen.

“Good form,” she commented. “Nice use of leverage. Firm hands. Eight out of ten.”

Peter threw a couch cushion at her.

Of course, despite the ease with which they fit together, there were moments where Peter was reminded of Johnny’s superhero status. Often Johnny would show up hovering outside his fire escape, his flames lighting up the whole building. Neighbours were particularly unforgiving when Johnny did this in the early mornings.

One Wednesday saw him writing messages to Peter in the sky. He’d been tinkering with his camera at work when a colleague elbowed him and pointed over her shoulder. A large crowd had gathered around the windows, peering at something outside and snickering. When Peter approached all eyes turned to him and the snickers grew in volume. He already had a sinking feeling in his stomach and when he looked out the window all he could do was sigh. Johnny, who had been listening to a suspicious amount of The Doors lately, had written ‘Baby, you light my fire’, with a winky face thrown in.

A loud grunt sounded behind Peter. He turned slowly, anticipating the stony face of Jameson that waited for him. The surly man flickered his eyes once to the love note in the sky, then back at Peter, who would’ve given anything to borrow Sue’s powers in that moment and disappear.

“Who you mess around with is your business, Parker,” Jameson growled. “But keep your stinkin’ puppy love outta my floor! Got it?”

Peter nodded dumbly. Jameson stormed off, muttering something about Peter using his ins with the FF to get him something useful next time.
It seemed Johnny was hell-bent on making sure the world didn’t forget about them for a second.

“You ready?” Johnny asked him.

“I don’t know,” Peter replied. “Seeing as I literally have no idea what we’re doing.”

That wasn’t entirely true. When Johnny had arrived at his apartment that morning with a basket and checkered blanket and told him to get dressed, he’d had a pretty good idea of what was cooking in that blonde head. They were standing on the bay now, over-looking the New York Harbor. He briefly wondered if they were to squeeze onto one of the many tourist cruises circling Liberty Island when Johnny burst into flames.

Peter wasn’t sure he would ever get used to Johnny flaming on and tried to stifle his surprised yelp. Johnny grinned and let the fire die along his arms. He hovered above the ground a few feet in the air and held out his hands to Peter.

“Ready now?”

“Even less so than before.” But he took his hands regardless.

Johnny lifted them slowly from the ground and Peter gasped. Despite the few times Johnny had needed to swoop in and fly Peter out of the clutches of a disgruntled henchman or vicious science experiment at the FF’s fight scenes, Peter had never flown with Johnny before. He held Johnny’s hands in a death grip, watching as the traffic below them became smaller and smaller until they were in open air.

“This is crazy,” he gasped and Johnny laughed.

They sailed smoothly across the Harbor and pretty soon Lady Liberty herself was standing before them. Johnny flew around the back of the crown and set them down atop her head. Peter’s knees instantly buckled but Johnny caught him before he hit the ground. His arms were around Peter’s waist, hugging him close, and Peter found nowhere else to put his hands than on Johnny’s solid chest. Johnny glanced to his left and grinned.

“Nice view, huh?”

Peter looked at the cityscape laid out before them, of the glistening water and sharp silhouette of the New York City skyscrapers against the stark blue of the mid-morning sky.

He shrugged. “Eh, it’s alright.”

A laugh rumbled deep in Johnny’s chest and Peter felt it vibrate through his fingertips. Johnny dipped his head and Peter closed his eyes, welcoming the warm press of Johnny’s lips against his. He sighed and wound his arms around Johnny’s neck, deepening the kiss. He loved kissing Johnny. He suspected he would never get tired of it; that any time their mouths met Peter would melt. Johnny pulled back just as Peter swiped his tongue along the seam of his lips.

“Hey now,” he chided. “This isn’t that kind of date. I’m trying really hard to be romantic here.”

“You’re telling me that kissing on top of the Statue of Liberty isn’t romantic?”

“Oh no, it is. Super romantic. But anything beyond that is just public indecency.”

“This is about making up for the T.V kiss, isn’t it?”

Johnny groaned, tipping his head back. “God. Would you just be a good little boyfriend and swoon at my efforts?”

Peter grinned and threw himself backwards, forcing Johnny to scramble to catch him in a low dip. “Oh, Johnny!” Peter gasped, fanning himself. “No man’s ever done anything like this for lil’ ol’ me.”

Johnny scooped an arm under Peter’s knees and lifted him clean off the ground. Peter squeaked and lashed out to get a hold of Johnny’s shoulders.
“I always knew I’d sweep you off your feet,” Johnny crooned.

Peter couldn’t take any more and burst out laughing.

The actual picnic ended up being surprisingly pleasant. Though Peter was skeptical that Johnny had actually made all the food himself, it was delicious regardless. They sat there on that checkered blanket, eating tuna-salad sandwiches and sipping sparkling grape juice, looking out over the city. With his shoulder pressed flush against Johnny’s, Peter tried to recall a time he’d felt this content. Nothing came up. He shuffled closer to Johnny.

“Listen,” Johnny began after a while of sitting in companionable silence. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

For a freezing second Peter thought Oh God, he’s breaking up with me, I knew it! before the hesitant curl of Johnny’s mouth made him pause.

“Sure,” Peter replied. “What’s up?”

Johnny swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bouncing slowly. He put aside his half-eaten turkey sandwich and cleared his throat before turning to face him.
“Have you ever thought about…I mean, have you ever considered, maybe, not sitting in on our fights?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

He scrambled to answer. “Well, you’re, y’know, practically there every day. Don’t you, uh, ever get bored?” Johnny’s whole face was flushed. His hands tapped nervously at his knees. “I mean, there must be someone else who could step in, right?”

Peter was taking his time processing this. “You don’t want me there at your battles?”

“Well…” Johnny’s eyes were wild, like he was desperately fishing for an answer, before he let out the tiniest breath and relented, “yeah.”

Peter leaned back, breaking the contact between them. “Why? You don’t like the pictures? You’re still upset about the cover?” Johnny kept shaking his head, so Peter steeled himself and asked, “or what? Am I cramping your style?” It struck a blow in his chest to even say it. The thought that Johnny was embarrassed of him hurt more than any insult to his photography skills ever could.

“What?” Johnny looked taken aback. “No!—No. It’s nothing like that. I’m just…” he reached for his hand and Peter let him take it. “I’m just scared, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt trying to catch my good side.”

“You don’t have to be scared,” Peter assured him, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I haven’t gotten hurt yet.”

“Yeah. ‘Yet’ being the key word here. If something big went down—something too big, even for me, and you got swept up in it, it’d be my fault. And I don’t wanna take that risk with you, Pete. You’re too important.” Peter opened his mouth to protest but Johnny cut him off. “I’m not saying you should quit your job or anything, but maybe let someone else cover the super stuff. Try your hand at something else. I hear pet portraits are really in right now.”

He smiled but Peter couldn’t bring himself to smile back. Johnny didn’t want him near the Human Torch. He worried about him, thought he couldn’t handle that part of him. He knew it came from a place of caring in Johnny but the fact of the matter was that Peter wasn’t…enough to keep up with Johnny’s super dealings without being a burden.

The tuna-salad suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.

It got worse after that. Peter was constantly being reminded that Johnny and the Human Torch were a package deal. He still oversaw every Fantastic Four fight he could, much to Johnny’s disapproval. But that meant watching Johnny get knocked around. They always came out on top but not without their share of scars. Reed had earned a whopper of a blow to the head against a werewolf twice his size in a rare midnight melee. Sue had dislocated her shoulder twice and broken three toes all in one week. And Ben had practically had a building dropped on him a few days ago. Peter worried for all of them but it was when Johnny was sent sprawling that made his heart stop.

A particularly scary moment had been a week ago when a freeze ray had knocked out Johnny. His flames had snuffed out instantly and he went into free fall. Peter had been on the ground when it happened, shouting helplessly as he watched him fall. Ben had caught him but God…seeing him that way, limp and unmoving; it had scared Peter. Really, truly terrified him.

Johnny had woken, lips blue and teeth chattering. “I don’t feel so hot,” he’d joked and Peter nearly cried.

He’d stayed with Johnny that night in the Baxter Building. Had held him all night, wrapped tight in his arms to keep him warm and stop him from shaking. Johnny had clung onto him until he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Peter hadn’t slept a wink that night. Maybe Johnny was right after all and he just wasn’t cut out for witnessing the superhero lifestyle.

It was that combination of the outlandish romantic gestures and the real threats he faced that made Peter see Johnny as something completely alien to him. He was flashy and glorious and a savior. And Peter was just the helpless bystander with a camera. He’d known from the start that he could never be in the same ballpark as Johnny, that he was nothing more than a flea in Johnny’s mane. But he wanted to be better. Oh, how he wished he could be on the same level as him, to have the respect he had for his teammates. To be his equal.

But what could Puny Parker ever do to be as great as Johnny Storm? Awesome destinies didn’t just fall from the sky.

“You’re not eating.”

Peter glanced up from the lasagna he’d been steadily poking for an hour. His Aunt May stared back at him, concern creased in the wrinkles around her eyes. He hadn’t seen her for two weeks and knew he wasn’t being the best company at that moment.

He tried for a smile. “Sorry. Just not really hungry.”

Aunt May frowned and set down the dish she’d been scrubbing. She sat across from Peter at the kitchen table and fixed him with those steely eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He began to say that nothing was wrong but she shushed him. “You tell me the truth now, Peter. Because I haven’t seen you moping like this for quite a while now.” She paused. “Are you having…relationship problems?”

“No!” Peter instantly snapped. Aunt May raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “I mean, maybe. It’s nothing though, I’m just being stupid.” He pulled at a stray thread on his sleeve. “I’m just not- I don’t fit in with them. I’m just always there on the ground and they’re—he’s—up in the sky. I don’t belong with him.”

He stared resolutely at the scratched tabletop. His jaw was clamped tightly shut to keep his lip from shaking. He would not cry like some sorry loser to his aunt.
A warm, weathered hand slipped over his fist, rubbing at his clenched fingers. He relaxed his hand and looked to Aunt May’s kind face.

“Oh, Peter,” she sighed. “You need to stop doing this to yourself. Just because you can’t-“ she broke off and waved a vague hand, “-shoot lazers out of your eyes, doesn’t mean you aren’t amazing.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, ‘the Amazing Peter Parker’, that’s me.” She shot him a glare and he sat up straight. “It’s true though! What could I do for someone like him? I’m just a glorified groupie when you think about it.”

“You’ve got to stop thinking of him and start thinking of you,” she argued. “Take some time off all this hero business and do something for yourself. You deserve it, Peter.”

Peter sank against his chair and smiled, feeling the fatigue settle in his bones. Aunt May smiled back and pushed his plate towards him.

“Now finish your dinner.”

Peter looked at the strip of pictures in his hands. It was from a photo booth he and Johnny had stumbled across one day at the mall. The booth really had been too small for them both but when they were on that high of each other’s laughter and several cans of red bull, simple things like a tight fit were the last things on their minds. They were leaning on each other shoulders, making ridiculous faces, then back-to-back, holding up finger guns. The last shot was them lost in hysterics, arms looped about each others necks.

Peter smiled, a warmness prickling through his chest, and set the pictures back on the mantle place.

He glanced to the tiny mirror hanging on the wall and checked his appearance one last time. His slacks, button-down, and vest were all clean, his hair was neatly slicked back, and his glasses were free of any fingerprints. He blew out a breath, long and slow, then swiped up his bag and swept out the door. Just as his feet hit the sidewalk, his phone buzzed with a call from Johnny.

“Torchie-baby. Talk to me,” he said by way of answering.

The sound of Johnny chuckling filled his ear. “Petey-baby. It’s a quite a day in the lovely New York City: no rampaging monsters threatening mass destruction. Not even a lowly jewel thief to entertain me. What’s say you an’ me hit the town?”

Peter narrowly avoided being flattened by a taxi as he dashed across the road. “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t. I’m going to this science thing today.”

“I knew it. You’re leaving me for Reed.”

“Well, he is better looking than you.”

“That’s not even remotely true.”

Peter laughed as he descended to the underground and boarded the subway. “Rain check? I’ll make it up to you.”

Johnny hummed down the line and Peter could just picture his hooded eyes. “That sounds like a promise, Parker, and you best believe I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he replied, made a loud kissy noise, and hung up.

He rode to his stop in a happy bliss, Johnny’s bright eyes and smile on his mind.

As he made his way above ground he silently thanked Aunt May for her advice. It felt good. To be doing something outside of Johnny, something far and away from superheroes and villains. He reached his destination and stared at the banner overhanging the entrance. The Annual New York Science Exhibit was somewhere Peter walked without the Human Torch’s long shadow hanging over him. It was nice to get away from all the extraordinary stuff and do something normal.

Peter pushed open the door and went inside.

Hey. How’s your nerd thing goin? - Sent 12:21 p.m.

That good huh? - Sent 12:45 p.m.

Ok I get it. Big time nerd doesn’t have time 4 his lowly bf. - Sent 1:01 p.m.

U ok? – Sent 1:07 p.m.

Peeeeete. – Sent 1:09 p.m.

Don’t think I’m above tracking ur phone. – Sent 1:11 p.m.

That’s it. I’m coming. – Sent 1:15 p.m.

No don’t it’s cool. Sorry. – Sent 1:16 p.m.

Jeeez! What’s wrong w/ u? Trying 2 give a guy a heart attack? – Sent 1:16 p.m.

Sorry. Was in this really cool demo. Going home now. – Sent 1:18 p.m.

Want me to pick u up? – Sent 1:19 p.m.

No it’s cool. I’ll see you later. – Sent 1:20 p.m.

Ok…see you. – Sent 1:21p.m.

Two Weeks Later:

Peter yelped and jammed his thumb into his mouth. His fingers were littered with pricks and cuts. He’d ran out of Band-Aids yesterday and would soon have to resort to wearing thimbles if things went on as they were any longer. Luckily he was down to the last few stitches. He held up the mask inches from his face. Huge white eyes stared back at him. He set about the last of the sewing.

Some might say a couple of weeks wasn’t enough time to decide to become a superhero but Peter was an impulsive guy. He still didn’t fully understand what had happened to him. All he knew was that a spider had bitten him at the exhibit, messed with his DNA, and now he had powers. Really awesome, amazing powers. And he was going to do something with them.

His first instinct had been to tell Johnny. But when those texts popped up on his phone while he was writhing on the bathroom floor in agony, his hand throbbing and pulsing, he hadn’t. He’d made excuses over the next few days to keep Johnny away; had told him he was sick and it was highly contagious so Johnny shouldn’t come over with chicken soup and movies, no matter what. Once the change had settled somewhat in his body and he’d partially wrapped his head around what was going on, he’d allowed Johnny to come over.

Johnny had opened the door, taken one look at him, and said, “You look different.”

“I do?” Peter had scratched his neck, wondering if he’d sprouted any extra eyes without noticing. “Different how?”

Johnny’s gaze had been critical as he’d stepped into Peter’s apartment. “I don’t know. But something’s changed.”

He’d set the Chinese food he’d brought down on the coffee table. Peter had tried to ignore the raging guilt knotting his stomach, knowing he was keeping a secret from Johnny, and a really big one at that. He’d pushed the thoughts aside though, hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Johnny’s jeans, and drew him close.

“Maybe it’s just been so long you’ve started to forget what I look like.”

Johnny had hummed, seeming to consider this. “Who are you again?”

Peter’s answering kiss was firm and Johnny made an appreciative sound against his mouth. His hands slid under Peter’s shirt to grip his waist.

“Okay,” he’d breathed. “It’s starting to come back to me. ‘Peter’, right?”

Peter had laughed low, before sealing their mouths together again. He’d missed Johnny those few days.

He shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of Johnny’s mouth, focusing on the present. He stood before his closet mirror, his body clad in the suit he’d slaved over for the past three days. He looked at the newly finished mask again before pulling it over his head. He looked at his reflection for a while.

Peter Parker was nowhere to be seen.

Johnny had told Peter about a tip Reed had gotten from Daredevil; two opposing gangs were set to go to war with each other Friday night. Well, Friday had arrived. The FF and devil of Hell’s Kitchen were staking out the battlefield, ready to stop the violence before it began.

“That’s the plan, anyway,” Reed had said, looking doubtful. The FF’s plans rarely went accordingly.

When Johnny had once again asked Peter to sit out on paparazzi duty, Peter had surprised him by agreeing. He’d made some excuse that he hadn’t been spending enough quality time with Aunt May, but the truth was he would be there. Only, Johnny wouldn’t recognize him.

That was the plan, anyway.

Peter tried not to feel nervous as he eased open his window and shot a web to the adjacent building. It was hard to fight off the doubt, though. His plans rarely went accordingly.

Those nerves soon died as he fell into his swing. The sudden euphoria that rose in his chest made him whoop aloud. He was still new to the sensation of web-slinging and knew that he would find any excuse to do it as often as possible. The feeling of the wind beating against him, of New York slipping by beneath him, injected a dose of wild freedom into his blood. As he zoomed through the city in seconds, around blocks he’d walked so many times, he felt unstoppable.
Peter heard the fighting before he saw it. He swung onto the roof of a high-rise, over-looking the abandoned road. A melee greeted him and he swore.
“Am I late?” He glanced at his wrist before remembering he wasn’t wearing his watch.

Below him gangsters and superheroes tangled. Sue was doing a good job of trying to keep the two sides apart using her force fields, though he had to wonder if she even knew who belonged to which gang. Reed was yelling at a heavily tattooed man to stand down, even when a gun was raised to his head. Ben dealt the guy a punch that sent him flying into several other similarly tattooed men. Daredevil seemed to think that the best way of diffusing the situation was to knock out everyone. He moved through the throng of leather jackets, nothing more than a blur of red as he swiftly—but viciously—clubbed men with his batons, felling them.

It was when Peter saw Johnny that he sucked in a breath.

Johnny had five men shooting at him as he raced above them, bullets grazing his flames. He appeared almost relaxed, flippantly dropping fireballs on no discernible target. Peter could’ve sworn he yawned. That was until a car came screeching around the corner.

It gunned hard and fast down the street, men jumping and scrambling to get out of it’s path until it had a direct line to Ben. The engine roared as it closed in, but instead of running Ben merely braced himself and met the front fender with his shoulder. Ben remained firmly rooted to the spot, while the car spun, out of control, and slammed into a fire hydrant. Directly beneath Johnny.

Water burst from the hydrant, spurting upwards and instantly soaking Johnny, dousing his flames. He fell to the ground with a yell, landing heavily on his side. Men immediately surrounded him, guns out and ready. It was with Sue’s cry of alarm that Peter leaped off the building.

He took the first one out with a swinging kick to the head, knocking him to the ground. He webbed the hand holding the gun to the sidewalk before moving on to the next two, webbing their ankles and pulling their feet out from under them.

“Hey now, guys,” he said, taking in their bemused stares. “I’ve got to say this isn’t the best recreational activity to express yourself. I’d recommend crochet.”

An increasingly familiar buzz sounded in the back of his head. He swung around and ducked, narrowly dodging a knife that would’ve plunged into his neck. He grabbed the gangster’s wrist and twisted until he cried out in pain and dropped the knife. Peter kicked it away before flipping the guy and webbing his head to the ground (making sure he left the guy’s mouth alone so he could, y’know, breathe).

One of the men sprawled on the ground got to his feet and rushed Peter with a guttural yell. Peter hopped, using the man’s face as leverage, and jumped over him, leapfrog style.

“Whoo!”

He landed soundly in a crouch and swept the guy’s feet out from under him with a kick. The man landed on his stomach, chin smashing against the pavement. Peter quickly checked to see if the man was still breathing but the only damage seemed to be a chipped tooth and loss of consciousness. He was out like a light. Peter gave his head a tender pat.

“Sleep now,” he whispered.

The last guy seemed to have learned from his companion’s mistakes and approached Peter soundlessly. He made it within arms reach when a shout—Johnny?—reached his ears. Peter span around, a punch just clipping his cheek, grabbed the man’s wrist and just threw him. He was still learning just how strong the average spider, and by extension himself, was. The answer was always more than expected. The guy flew through the air in a speeding arc. It would’ve been almost majestic, were it not for the screeching and flailing.

“Ah, shoot!” Peter yelled, scrambling to get underneath the descending man. “I got him, I got him!” He held out his arms, never taking his eyes off the prize.
Just as the man—who had an impressively high vocal range, by the way—was feet from Peter catching him, a pair of huge pillars with hands reached over his head and caught the guy instead.

“Oh.” Peter tipped his head back until it hit Ben’s solid chest. “I guess you got him.”

Ben stared down at him. His eyes were hard to make out in the dark but Peter thought he was probably looking at him with that withering glare he aimed at people when he thought they were acting like idiots. He was rarely on the receiving end of that glare and resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his suit.

“Nice throw,” Ben eventually said. “Yer aim needs work though.”

“Don’t I know it,” Peter laughed nervously, backing out of Ben’s massive shadow.

Sue, Reed, and Daredevil seemed to have roped the majority of the gangsters into one of Sue’s force fields. The rest of them had either run off or lay unconscious, scattered across the street. They were throwing apprehensive looks Peter’s way. He was just about to offer to help with the clean up when Johnny’s voice shattered the newly founded silence.

“What the hell?!”

Peter swung around, hissing Johnny’s name under his breath, and was at his side in an instant. Johnny was still sat on his ass, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead. He stared at Peter with open bewilderment, the corner of his lip pulled back ever so slightly.

“As comfy as that cold slab of concrete looks,” Peter said, “you might wanna get on up.” He stuck out a gloved hand.

Johnny recoiled from Peter’s outstretched hand like he’d just spat in his palm. He jumped to his feet, swaying slightly. Peter knew getting his flames snuffed always threw him off a little, but steam was already curling off Johnny’s body, along with colour staining his cheeks.

“Who the hell’re you supposed to be?” he snapped.

Peter snatched his hand back, surprised at the bite in Johnny’s tone. “Nice way to thank the guy who just saved your butt.”

“I was fine!” His fists were tightly clenched by his sides and he had that wild look in his eyes he got when he was fighting baddies. “What do you know anyway? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

Peter tipped his chin up, aware that Johnny couldn’t see his eyes and made a show of taking in the view of the city.

“Guess you could say I’m new in town,” he said then levelled his gaze back at Johnny. “Name’s Spider-Man.”

“Never heard of you.”

“Hence, the ‘new in town’ status.”

Johnny scowled and it was that look of contempt that made Peter’s stomach drop. Johnny was looking at him with unchecked dislike. This was not how Peter had envisioned this night going. He’d expected that same chemistry between him and Johnny to shine on the battlefield, that the moment he’d swing onto the scene, he and Johnny would click, just like they always had. Only this time they’d be on equal ground. Not a hero and a guy with a camera, but two crime-fighters. Brothers in arms. The same.

That was not what was happening though.

“’Spider-Man’, was it?” Reed asked as he approached, Ben, Sue, and Daredevil by his side. He held his hand out to Peter. “I’m-“

“Mr. Fantastic,” Peter cut in, shaking Reed’s hand. “I know. I know all you guys.” He waved to Ben and Sue, who smiled indulgently, and he was painfully reminded of their other first meeting. He turned to Daredevil, who stood silently, arms folded over his chest. “I know you too,” he said with an awkward little laugh. “You’re Daredevil. I’m a, uh, big fan.” He flexed his fingers then curled them into fists and stuck them behind his back. Why couldn’t he figure out what to do with his hands?

Daredevil gave the barest hint of a smile and nodded to him. “Always good to have more arms on the force.” He turned to Reed. “I should go. Someone has to chase down those runaways.” He went to leave then gave Peter a little wave. “I suppose I’ll see you again.” Then he disappeared into the night with some stunning acrobatics.

“Does that get any less cool the more you see it?” Peter asked, glad his mask was covering his gawking.

Sue laughed lightly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for your help. I appreciate you swooping in to save my brother.” She glared at Johnny, as though he should’ve known better than to get hit by exploding fire-hydrants.

“I was fine!” Johnny spat through gritted teeth, embers licking at his body. He shot glares at each of his teammates. “I don’t know why you guys’re being so cool with this. Some Bug-Man falls from the sky, nearly kills a guy, and now we’re all buddies?”

“It’s Spider-Man,” Peter said, growing more and more angry by the second. “And it was an accident.”

Johnny gave Peter an unimpressed look then swung back to Reed. “Reed, come on.”

“He helped us, Johnny,” Reed replied crossly. His expression softened to a cordial smile as he faced Peter. “The way I see it, you’ve got an ally in us, Spider-Man.”

“Agreed,” Sue said.

“I jus’ gotta know one thing first,” Ben said, holding out a hand the size of a satellite dish. He stared Peter right in the eye. “You poisonous?”

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

Ben gestured vaguely. “Y’know, like a spider. You poisonous?”

“Oh! Uh, no. I mean, I don’t think so.”

Ben shrugged. “Good ‘nough fa’ me.”

“Guys, come on. You can’t be serious.” Johnny looked to be moments away from flaming on and Peter was tempted to roll up his mask and stick his tongue out just to push him over the edge.

They were serious, however, and Sue told him if he was going to act like a baby he could fly home himself. She, Ben and Reed then piled into the Fantasticar and sped away, but not before Reed told Peter that if he ever needed help the Baxter Building was only a few webs away. They left Peter and Johnny standing on the sidewalk, staring after the flying car.

Peter contemplated just swinging away from the seething look Johnny was giving him but Johnny reached out and grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip before he could make a break for it.

“Okay, Webhead, you may have my family fooled but don’t think for a second I’m falling for this ruse.”

Peter pried Johnny’s fingers off his shoulder one by one. The Parker plan was not going smoothly.

“And what’s that?”

Johnny threw back his head and scoffed. He paced a few steps away and stopped with his back to Peter.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re type,” he began, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Some small-town sucker crawls out here, thinkin’ he can make it the big city. Well I’ve got news for you, Bug-Boy-” he whirled on Peter then, stalking up to him and poking a finger against his chest. “This is my terf, so you better step off. Capiche?”

As Peter stared at the finger that was so often entwined with his own, pressed against the spider insignia on his chest, he couldn’t believe it. How had this happened? How did Johnny hate him so much? How had he never known Johnny could be so downright nasty?

He swatted the finger away and levelled his eyes until their gazes were locked.

“How about you,” Peter said with more bite than he’d thought himself capable of, “stop being such a jerk, and maybe I won’t permanently web your mouth shut.”

Fire danced along Johnny’s shoulders as he narrowed his eyes. “Them fightin’ words?”

And for a moment there Peter was tempted to say ‘yes’. But then he thought that fire and webs were not the greatest ingredients for their first couples’ spat and he relaxed his tight fists.

“Nah,” he said and shot a web to the nearest building. “You’re not worth it.” He felt a thrill go up his spine as he said the words.

A gale of hysterics bubbled up in his chest at the sight of Johnny’s face, so shocked and offended at the words that he swung out of there before it popped.

“Until next time, Flamebrain!” he called as he swung away.

And thus ended the first meeting of Spider-Man and the Human Torch.

Things between them the next day were tense, to say the least. Johnny took Peter to their weekly movie night at the local cinema, which was usually one of the highlights of Peter’s schedule. But not that day. Peter was feeling somewhat bitter about how everything had gone down the previous night. He had pictured this day as a squabble of delight as Johnny would come to terms with Peter’s new super status and revel in joy that they could now be together on every playing field.
Instead, every time Johnny looked at him with those big blue eyes, he just remembered the iciness they had directed at him. Whenever Johnny smiled he only saw those lips pulled back in a resentful sneer. And when he talked Peter only heard that voice telling him to ‘step off’.

He found himself not returning any of Johnny’s affections. When he put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, as he always did, Peter didn’t lean into him but stiffened at the touch and sat up, ramrod straight. Johnny asked him continually if he was all right but after the forth snappy response he stopped asking and they both sat through the movie in silence.

Once they got out two hours later, devoid of the usual raucous laughter that earned them strange looks from others, Johnny reached for Peter’s hand on autopilot. Their fingers brushed but Peter pulled away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He tried to ignore the hurt look on Johnny’s face as they walked to his car.
The ride back to Peter’s apartment, which had always seemed too short, was agonizingly long. Johnny let the radio play, drowning out the silence but not the tension. His fingers beat against the steering wheel. He worried the inside of his cheek and several locks of hair had fallen over his steely eyes. Peter chose to stare out the window.

They finally pulled up to the curb on Peter’s street. He went to open the door when Johnny caught the cuff of his jacket.

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asked, his voice scratchy.

“Uh-“ Peter hesitated then sighed through his nose. “Sure.”

Johnny smiled a little at that and leaned across their seats. Peter began to lean in too, but as those blonde eyelashes fluttered shut Johnny’s voice from yesterday rang harsh and clear through his head.

“This is my terf, so you better step off.”

He turned at the last second and gave Johnny the cheek. Johnny froze as his lips brushed Peter’s skin. He pulled back slowly, eyes wide and searching. Peter couldn’t take the intensity of that gaze and gave Johnny a hurried ‘good-bye’. He practically fell out the door in his haste to get inside his building and away from the storm cloud gradually building over their heads.

The moment he stepped into his apartment he slumped against the door and slid to the ground. He tipped his head back and stared at the cracked ceiling. His heart was a rock in his chest, steadily sinking with every beat.

Peter had been on some truly rotten dates over the years but that day with Johnny took the cake.

Why did everything have to suck so bad?

Mary Jane was more interested in pizza than his problems. Peter didn’t know what he was going to tell her—that his boyfriend could hate him one day and be perfect the next. Oh, also he had super powers now. He’d hardly said a word since they reached the pizzeria but MJ didn’t seem so concerned with his silence. Instead, she gave all her focus to a slice of mozzarella and pepperoni.

It was getting to the point where Peter was considering just leaving, when MJ bit at a string of cheese and turned her eyes on him.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

He stared at her. “You mean you’ve known I’ve had a problem this whole time and you’re just now asking me about it?”

She raised a plucked eyebrow. “You’ve gotta learn to use your words, Pete. Not everyone is as considerate as me.”

He sighed and flicked at a loose piece of pepperoni. He was aware of his astoundingly bad communication skills. He could probably win the Olympic gold for passive aggression.

“So what’s up?” she asked, propping her chin on her palm.

Peter wondered how to go about this without ruining his life and decided to go with half the truth.

“Things aren’t great. With me and Johnny.”

“Oh, no.” She frowned. “What happened?”

“It’s just-“ he waved his hands around in tiny circles, searching for the words. “I just saw a new side of him and wasn’t a fan.”

Mary Jane tipped her head to the side and a strand of red hair fluttered over her face. She blew it to the side.

“You mean Wonder Boy isn’t perfect? Peter, you should get the scoop first. The public will implode with this news!”

“Stop it,” he grumbled. “I’m being serious.”

The teasing grin vanished from MJ’s face. She sat up straight, hair falling back from her face and those round, beseeching eyes.

“He didn’t…”her voice wobbled and her fingers shook as she tentatively reached across the table to touch his hand. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“What?”

The bottom of Peter’s stomach collapsed as the implications of those words hit him. He rushed to grab MJ’s hand and assure her that no, no way, that is not what he meant, don’t worry. It took a few rounds of denial to completely chase the suspicion out of her eyes but once he did she sighed. That sigh said that maybe Johnny was an ass, but he wasn’t that big an ass.

She took another bite of pizza. “Everything’s been sunshine and rainbows for you two, up ‘til now. Maybe you’re due for a lover’s quarrel.”

Peter cringed. “Don’t call it that.”

MJ smirked, a string of mozzarella hanging from the corner of her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer ‘sweetheart’s spat’? Or how about ‘couple’s smack down’?”

Peter snorted into his drink and they both laughed. It was the first time he had genuinely laughed since his not-so-great debut as Spider-Man. For just a moment that stifling pressure that had been squeezing his chest for days lifted. He was so grateful to Mary Jane then, for giving him just a second of relief. He could’ve kissed her. Then he glanced up and the moment was over.

The T.V hanging in the corner of the roof was playing the news. The anchor’s words instantly caught Peter’s attention.

“-spotted several times in the past few days. Witnesses report seeing the masked man stick to walls with no special equipment and capable of substantial feats of strength. Dr. Reed Richards, leader of local superhero team, the Fantastic Four, had this to say on the matter.”

The screen cut to footage of Reed outside the Baxter Building in his day clothes. Reporters were hounding him, microphones and cameras shoved in his face. He spoke firmly to the crowd, addressing them all at once.

“I can confirm that the Fantastic Four have interacted with Spider-Man on an operation to protect the safety of New York’s citizens,” he said, cameras flashing with every word. “He was of great assistance to us that night and we plan on maintaining contact with him in the hopes of forming a solid relationship as allies. No more questions.” And with that he span on his heel and stalked back into the building, loud questions flung after him.

The reporter was back on screen, straightening papers. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first. And to Spider-Man: welcome to New York.”

Peter half smiled at the T.V. He didn’t know how to feel—the fact that he was already getting press, that Reed had publicly stood up for him, that the world knew his name—it was all so much. He turned back to the table at the same time MJ did. He supposed she’d been watching too.

“Well, how ‘bout that?” MJ said, picking at a random leaf of spinach that had made it’s way onto her slice of pizza. She wrinkled her nose at it. “New superdude in town.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, folding his arms on the tabletop and resting his head on them. “How ‘bout that.”

Johnny didn’t want to alarm anyone, but he was pretty sure his boyfriend was in love with Spider-Man.

He had no idea how any of this had happened. How had his life—a carefully crafted series of shambles tacked together—come to this? Sure, he’d always been prone to have the occasional alien invasion put a damper on his day but that came with the job description. What wasn’t listed in the superhero occupational hazard directory was having your awesome boyfriend leave you for someone decidedly less awesome.

Peter had always been his rock—his emotional rock, not his Ben rock. He was just a guy with a wicked sense of humour, wit sharp as a knife, and the uncanny ability to make sweater vests look hot. But above all of that he was just a guy. A normal guy with student loans, a less-than-stellar job, and a shabby apartment. He was the total package of average, early-twenties New Yorker. And Johnny loved that about him.

There was no drama with Peter. Johnny never had to fear ‘I’m secretly your evil clone made by an innocuous arch-nemesis, here to spy on you and learn your ultimate weakness, bwahaha’ type of thing where Peter was concerned. He was dependable like that. He was a thread of reality tying him to Earth when his head got up in the clouds. Nothing settled him down after a fight with a guy that could beam dinosaurs into existence, like seeing Peter’s dopey smile behind his camera.
Those early weeks of their relationship had been some of the most blissful Johnny could remember for a long time. Watching Jurassic Park on the huge flat screen in the FF’s living room, while Peter would comment on all the scientific inaccuracies and commend the CGI at the same time.

“That T-Rex shouldn’t exist but I can actually see the distaste for humanity in its eyes.”

Johnny didn’t mention that he’d already heard all this from Reed before, and just sat back and enjoyed the spectacle of Peter being passionate about something.
When Johnny had announced their relationship to the world (in, admittedly not the subtlest way), countless gossip sites had been left scratching their heads. ‘What is Johnny Storm thinking!?’ they would exclaim in tacky font. ‘Going from Victoria Secret models to a no-name reporter? That Parker must have some serious hidden talents.’ And it was true that Peter did not fall under the normal category of Johnny’s prospective options. When he’d felt those first blossoms of feelings for some dorky reporter, he’d been astounded at himself.

What are you doing, Storm? We’ve talked about this. You’d better put on the brakes. THE BRAKES!

But then he’d started flirting with Peter, and enjoying it when Peter flirted back. Suddenly, he’d started wanting to be around him all the time, and spent copious amounts of daylight thinking about his fluffy hair, and the ink constantly staining his fingertips, and the way he laughed through his teeth. When Ben started making fun of him for it he knew it was bad.

He still felt that way even now. Whenever he saw Peter, or talked to him, or texted him, he’d be filled with a giddiness that made him afraid his flames would start curling into the shapes of little hearts.

When Peter was around everything was perfect.

Then Spider-Man had come along.

Ever since that obnoxious wall-crawler had entered his life some weeks ago, Johnny’s perfect Peter-shaped bubbled had been popped. BSM (Before Spider-Man), Peter had been a near-daily fixture of Johnny’s life. Whether they were at the Baxter Building, Peter’s apartment, or at many of their frequent date spots throughout the city, they were constantly together. So much so that Sue joked they were attached at the hip. Recently though, Peter had been avoiding him. He was always cancelling their dates or making excuses as to why they couldn’t hang out.

“I’m, uh, dog-walking today. And you can’t help. They hate blondes. Specifically.”

When they were together Peter was like a totally different person. He was cold and brushed of all of Johnny’s advances. He would snap at the simplest of comments. He’d even stopped reciprocating any touch Johnny initiated. They hadn’t kissed in ten days now. This sudden wall Peter had built between them was driving him crazy. Waves of resentment pored off him and Johnny had no idea what the hell was going on.

Then the pictures started.

Johnny woke up late that morning, having been kept up late last night from bickering with Spider-Man about the best way to tie up criminals. He waltzed into the kitchen, swiped the mug of coffee Reed had just poured for himself and the newspaper out of Ben’s huge fists. He took a swig of coffee, glanced at the front page, then spat out said coffee before anyone could even protest about their stolen objects.

“Great,” Ben muttered, eying the dripping paper. “I was readin’ that.”

“What is this?” Johnny demanded, bringing the paper an inch from his face.

Of course, he could see what it was. It was Spider-Man perched on the edge of a building. He was silhouetted against the pale orange afternoon sky. With the crisp lines of his profile, he looked entirely too dignified for Johnny’s liking. But what really twisted his gut wasn’t the massive headline reading: “Spider-Man Strikes Again! Hero or Menace?”, but the tiny line of text printed under the picture. Photo taken by Peter Parker.

“I don’t believe this,” Johnny murmured.

Ben chuckled as he stood up. “What’s worse? Webs gettin’ front page treatment, or the fact that Pete took the picture?”

Johnny scrunched the newspaper into a ball and lobbed it at Ben’s head. He just laughed harder as it bounced harmlessly of his shoulder, and ducked through the doorway.

Johnny crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. He felt hot under his skin, the same way he did when he absorbed too much fire. He tried to calm down but every time his eyes darted to that scrunched up wad of coffee-stained paper, that heat rose in him with alarming ferocity. He made a promise to blow off some steam later when Reed pried the mug out of his hand.

“You’ve got to let this Spider-Man vendetta go,” he said, using that ‘I’m being the sensible leader and you’re being the bratty child’ voice he sometimes broke out when Johnny got wound up.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. I wouldn’t wanna upset your favourite ‘ally’.”

“You don’t need to say it like that,” Reed replied, still using the Voice. “I don’t know why you can’t see that he’s a valuable colleague.”

Johnny opened his mouth to say ‘because he’s a loud-mouth, no good, show-off, that’s why!’ when Sue breezed through the door and answered for him.

“Because he’s stealing the spotlight,” she said, kissing Reed’s cheek. Her eyes caught on the scrunched-up newspaper and she gave Johnny a knowing smile. “From multiple sources.”

“You think I’m jealous?” he asked incredulously.

Sue took the offered mug from Reed and glanced away. “You said it, not me.”

Johnny’s arms tightened across his chest. “I’m not jealous.”

Sue, still not looking at him, hummed. She sipped her coffee.

Johnny wasn’t sure how to go about this. On the one hand Peter seemed to be in a better mood than usual. They were in Central Park, dozing on a grassy hill. A checkered blanket was laid out under them—the same blanket from their picnic date atop the Statue of Liberty, not that Johnny was a sap or anything; it was just a comfy blanket, that was all. Peter’s head was tipped against his shoulder, his messy brown hair tickling Johnny’s neck. His chest rose and fell in even, steady breaths. It was, without a speck of doubt, the best things had been between them for a while. Johnny put it all down to the fact that he hadn’t seen Spider-Man for a few days and his evil curse hadn’t been able to seep into Johnny’s life.

On the other hand, though, Johnny was silently going crazy about the pictures poking out of Peter’s bag. He could only see the tantalizing corners, but on them were patches of red. Johnny’s mind instantly started screaming “It’s Spider-Man! He’s been taking more pictures of Spider-Man! Storm, you gotta do something, you just gotta!”

So, being careful not to disturb Peter’s sleeping head, he reached across their bodies for Peter’s bag. The tips of his fingers just brushed the exposed corners when a voice grumbled beneath him.

“You’re going through my bag now?”

Johnny froze. Peter’s voice vibrated up Johnny’s arm where it slung across his chest. He stared at Johnny, one eye cracked open. Guilt, cold and certain, surged up in Johnny’s chest at being caught in the act of some snooping, jealous lover. He sighed and retracted his arm.

He flopped onto his back. “Sorry. I’m just…” he trailed off, not knowing how to say “Maddeningly curious! Lemme see your stuff!” without coming across too strong.

Peter just sat up and pulled the pictures out of his bag. He passed them to Johnny, who tried not to look at them too hungrily.

“The fire station turned two-hundred yesterday,” Peter said.

The photos were just several shots of a brigade of fire fighters standing in front of a huge red truck. No Spider-Man to be seen.

He glanced at Peter, who had his elbows balanced on his knees and was staring out at the park.

“Were the firemen hot?” he whispered.

Peter sighed. “The firemen are always hot, Johnny.”

“True,” Johnny said, letting the smallest ember curl off his shoulder.

Seeing the smile tugging at the corner of Peter’s mouth, Johnny guessed he’d seen it.

He was suddenly overcome with a rush of fondness for that smile. He sat up, reached for Peter’s cheek and turned his face so their noses touched. He stopped there, giving Peter the chance to lean back. But instead of pulling away, as he had done so many times in recent memory, he closed the thread of distance between them and kissed Johnny. His hand, lightly touching Peter’s cheek, curled until it was clutching the back of Peter’s neck tightly—desperately. Not wanting him to leave.

But, alas, all good things come to an end, and Peter eventually eased back. His brown eyes were soft but distant. Johnny knocked their foreheads together and savored that sweet moment. Then he opened his mouth.

“How do you know Spider-Man?”

Peter flinched, pulling away. “What?”

“The picture, Pete,” Johnny pressed, not liking the flush on Peter’s cheeks. “That picture of him in the Bugle. You took it.”

Peter scratched at the nape of his neck, shrugged, then scratched his nose. His fingers twitched jerkily.

“I was just in the area. Saw him. Got lucky.”

“You know, when I said I didn’t want you to sit in at my fights anymore, switching models wasn’t what I had in mind.”

A muscle twitched in Peter’s jaw. “I know you don’t like him,” he said testily.

Johnny didn’t even ask why he would think that. He had zeroed in on this connection between his boyfriend and his nemesis. Had something more gone down between Peter and Spider-Man than just a ‘lucky’ shot? Had Spider-Man been whispering in Peter’s ear about how bad Johnny had messed up that first night? How he was clearly the superior hero?

“He’s a jerk!” Johnny snapped, louder than he’d intended. “He’s a joke and you shouldn’t hang out with him.”

Peter gawked at him. “Are you…serious right now? Are you actually telling me what to do?” He shook his head with a barked, harsh laugh. “I can’t believe this. You know, it was bad enough when you tried to tell me I wasn’t good enough to even be in the same vicinity as you—but whatever, you were trying to protect me. But this?” He grabbed his bag and yanked it over his shoulder as he jumped to his feet. He stared down at Johnny with enough heat to make his flames look like candles. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“Pete—“

But Peter was walking away. He disappeared into the park, bag bouncing against his back with every purposeful step. He didn’t look back once.

“This sucks,” Johnny grumbled, lying spread-eagle on the middle of the road.

He couldn’t even be glad that Peter wasn’t there to see him like this. Already a small crowd had gathered on the streets to take pictures of the Human Pancake. Moments after he got knocked on his ass a resounding cheer went up as Ben clocked the Wizard halfway across Manhattan. He sat up as Sue floated to a stop in front of him. She took one look at his face and winced.

“Ouch, little brother. You’re gonna have one hell of a shiner tomorrow.”

Johnny rubbed at his throbbing eye, already swelling shut. “This kinda stuff doesn’t happen to me. I don’t know what’s going on.”

And it was the hard truth. All week the others had been doing their thing in and out of battles but Johnny had been, well, screwing up. His flying had been sloppy, his aim was off—Reed’s eyebrows had come close to singing when Johnny had mistimed a fireball. Now he was getting thrown around like a rookie. It burned just thinking about it.

Sue helped him to his feet. Her mouth was screwed up and he could tell she was biting the inside of her lip.

“What?”

“You’re off your game,” she relented. “Any idea why?”

Her tone said she knew why but was testing him on it anyway.

He shrugged, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “The Master Chef finale was unsatisfying?” Her frown had him sighing. “Spider-Man’s still ruining my life. I think he’s trying to steal Peter away from me.”

Sue had the audacity to laugh. “Um, what? You think because Peter’s taking pictures of him, he’s running around behind your back? Johnny—“

“It’s not just the pictures,” Johnny interjected, although those did bug him to no end. They continued to show up in nearly every issue of the Bugle. “You know he ran out on movie night yesterday? Saw some live news update on his phone about a robbery and said Spider-Man was gonna be there so he had to be there.”

“I think you’re forgetting that’s his job.”

“And he’s been working out. He never worked out before but now suddenly Spider-Man’s on the scene and he’s beefing up. You can’t tell me there’s no connection.” He was aware he sounded slightly crazy and vaguely felt his left eye twitch but told himself it was just the swelling.

Sue’s eyes softened and she put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Do you really think Peter would do that to you?”

Johnny dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching on several knots, and shook his head. No matter how bad things got between them, he knew Peter would never hurt him like that. He was too stupidly noble.

“No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that sneak isn’t trying to steal him away from me. That would be so him to try and play the desperate temptress in my life.”

All sympathy left his sister’s face, leaving only ire. Her hand fell from his shoulder to her hip.

“You’d better get over your Spider-Man hang-up, and you’d better do it fast,” she said. “We’re working with him on the factory bust tomorrow. Remember?”

Johnny groaned. The leads that Reed had been following up for months about some crime lord orchestrating brutal experimentations to make an army of supers had finally come to something. Word of an old factory home to some Frankenstein-worthy chemistry experiments along the Brooklyn river had reached the ear of a barman, whose lips could be greased with money. Some how Spider-Man’s involvement had slipped Johnny’s knowledge up until now.

“Are you serious?” he whined. “Why can’t we just go back to the old days before we needed that knuckle-head’s help?”

“Sort it out, Johnny,” Sue told him, walking to where Reed and Ben were gathered. “Or Reed’ll never forgive you.”

Johnny ground his teeth. It seemed no matter where he went Spider-Man followed him like a bad smell. Some how he’d have to get through the night without getting into an arm-wrestling match (again). And he would. For the sake of the team.

He just hoped Peter wouldn’t be there. He didn’t know if he could stomach the sight of him snapping away at that red pest. So long as Spider-Man and Peter didn’t cross paths, he assured himself he’d be fine.

Peter hated everything. It was not the quiet, grating irritation of little frustrations—oh, no. This was bigger. He wanted to draft songs about how much his life sucked. He wanted to hijack the Bugle and print newspapers, telling the world ‘It’s All So Messed Up’, with a feature article titled ‘WHY!?’

It was hard enough balancing work with Spidey, but when you factored in a boyfriend who is adoring half the time and hates your guts the rest, the stress starts to get a bit much. Peter’s emotions were in such a whir he felt he’d spontaneously combust at any second. That’d give Johnny a run for his money.

Johnny was trying so hard to make things good again. He was putting in more effort to spend time together, the flaming love notes—which had died down after that first incident—were back in action, and he had even started a habit of surprising Peter at work, or showing up on his fire-escape at any given time. It was when he did those things that Peter wanted so badly to just fall into it and be swept away. But then he would be a complete ass to him in his Spidey costume and ruin everything. Following their Torch/Spider-Man interactions Peter would be more that a little sour to Johnny.

Peter could appreciate that it must’ve been confusing for Johnny, who thought he was only seeing Peter for a fraction of what he actually was. To Johnny, Peter must’ve looked bipolar, and it was no better for him either. In the same way that Peter’s mood could be majorly swung at any given moment, Johnny had two sides as well: doting, beautiful boyfriend, and obnoxious, glory-hog. It had all made a definitive split in his life. Those two parts rested on opposite sides of a temperamental scale.

“Peter.”

Peter’s head snapped up to Aunt May, who was staring at him, the duster in her hand poised over a clock. She and Peter were cleaning his apartment, which had become progressively messier over the course of recent events. Where once there was only the stray sock or rack of dirty dishes, there now lay the sight of a low-budget apocalypse. Empty cartons of food, unwashed laundry, and scraps of stationary lay scattered about his apartment in cluttered piles. He’d found a shoe resting on the blade of the ceiling fan.

He rose from where he was scraping half a donut from under a sofa cushion. “Yeah?”

The corner of her mouth curled down and she clicked her tongue. “I said you’ve been acting distant lately.”

“Oh.” He tossed the donut in his garbage bag and went back to the sofa. “I guess I have. There’s just a lot going on with work and-“

“Johnny?”

Peter swayed for a moment, arms going forward to gather more crumbs, but swung back to his sides. He remained on his knees for a minute.

“I’m not sure,” he began slowly, “what I’m doing anymore. I mean, I’ve never had a clear idea but at least I was sort of stumbling in the right direction. It felt like that anyway.” He scratched at an old stain on the arm of the sofa. “But now…I’m totally lost.”

A sigh and the rustle of skirts behind him. Footsteps, then a hand squeezing his shoulder. He leaned back into it.

“You’ve always been so selfless,” Aunt May said. “Whenever that cat from down the street got stuck in a tree, you’d always be there to get it down. Even when the darn thing scratched you, you’d still carry it down every time.” She lowered herself to her knees beside him, and both of them stared at the sofa. “For once in your life, Peter, you need to think about yourself. No one else. If you’re lost then you need to find your way back to that path; you can’t have anyone leading you down their’s. Understand me?”

He let out a breath between his teeth and tipped his head onto her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

Peter had gone into the mission with an open mind. He was ready to let bygones be bygones and move forward. Ever since he’d donned the webs something inside him had lifted; it wasn’t just the gratification of having a little girl look at him awestruck as he lifted a car from over her. He felt like he was making a difference, despite what his boss thought. When he was swinging through New York, or saving some unsuspecting civilian from a falling building he wasn’t thinking. Fame and glory were stuffed in some far-off corner of his mind. Along with Johnny. It was a shock when he realized it, but when it hit him that he wasn’t doing this for Johnny anymore he almost splattered himself against the Empire State building.

It was a relief though, like a phantom weight had been lifted from his shoulders. So yeah, he was a new man, ready to take down some creeps in an old factory. However, fate (in this case Reed) had decided to stick him with Johnny, making his whole ‘moving forward’ pledge harder to uphold. Peter wasn’t a patient guy on the best of days, but when he was around Johnny his fuse was just noticeably shorter. Johnny wasn’t making it any easier either.

Though his flames were subdued, Peter could practically see the smoke gushing from his ears as he paced back and forth across their look out point. They were stationed in the thick rafters above the loading room. Boxes upon boxes were piled almost to the ceiling, and Peter would’ve bet anything that there were more than empty test tubes inside. He could’ve sworn one moved.

At any rate, he and Johnny were stuck together while the remaining three parts of the fearsome foursome zeroed in on the mad scientist in his laboratory. Though, with the Thing in tow, he doubted how stealthy their sneak attack would be.

After ten minutes listening to nothing but Johnny’s stomping Peter groaned.

“Oh my god, could you give it a rest? I’m getting motion sickness just watching you.”

Johnny, to his credit, did stop but ruined it when he turned a withering look on Peter.

“You are not even close to out-ranking me, so don’t think you can tell me what to do.”

“’Outrank’ you?” Peter flipped over from where he’d been hanging from the roof. He landed so that he and Johnny were barely a foot apart. “What do you think this is? Some middle school list of the cutest boys?”

Johnny folded his arms. “No, but if it were, I’d be higher up than you.” Peter didn’t get a chance to shoot back at that before Johnny was talking again in a fevered rush. “You’re acting like you’re already a member of the FF.”

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes!”

“Why? What’s your deal anyway?”

Johnny pointed a finger at Peter’s nose, which made him go cross-eyed trying to look at it.

“For all I know you could be some Skrull trying to infiltrate the team and destroy us from the inside.”

Peter swatted his finger away. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second, if I were a Skrull I’d just kidnap you then shape shift into you and take your spot on the team. Way simpler.”

He squinted at Peter. “Why me?”

“Because you sleep like the dead. We’d be halfway across Manhattan by the time you even woke up.” Johnny gave him a strange look and, realising what he’d just said, Peter backed up. “Uh, I mean, I’m assuming—obviously I don’t know-“

Peter was saved from any further proverbial slip-ups; he just wished his saviour wasn’t in the form of a giant malformed pigeon-man.

The huge figure crashed through the opposite wall below them, causing him and Johnny to jump a few feet. It was the size of a Mr. Olympia body-builder, with huge feathered wings sprouted from it’s hunched back. The feathers were bloody and matted in places and completely missing in others, exposing angry, red skin. If Peter had to guess, he’d peg the thing as Angel’s evil, ugly twin. It was half running, half flying through the gaping hole it had made, a long blue arm snaking it’s way after it. A moment later the rest of Mr. Fantastic’s body appeared.

“Torch! Spider-Man! Stop it!” Reed yelled, his mile-long arm just missing the foot of the runaway pigeon-man by a hair’s breadth.

“I’m on it! Flame on!” Johnny took a running leap off the rafter and burst into flames.

He soared at the pigeon-man—who had just managed to control its wings enough to get off the floor—and hit him like a speeding bullet. Johnny tried to tackle the thing to the ground but the gargantuan Tweety seemed to have overcome its earlier wobbling and flew the both of them upwards. Johnny scrambled to keep a hold on its neck as pigeon-man tried to shake him loose.

Peter tore his eyes off Johnny and leaped from the rafter himself. He shot web-line after web-line from the walls, floor, and ceiling, jumping and angling his shots until he’d made a perfect web. When he looked back at the fight, pigeon-man was flinging Johnny from his shoulders, but not before the wake of Johnny’s flames had caught on to a patch of feathers.

Pigeon-man shrieked, its broken voice caught somewhere between the scream of a man and the caw of a bird. It bolted, heading for the exit behind Peter’s web. Peter waited for the creature to streak past him before swinging from the ceiling. He soared after it, zeroing in on the space between its shoulders, ready for the brace of the web.

That was when Johnny appeared beside him, flying at break-neck speed. Peter’s web instantly melted in his hands. He flew forward, flailing his arms, past pigeon-man, hitting his own web, smack in the middle. Pigeon-man noticed first and ducked under the web, a split second before Johnny came barreling into Peter. Johnny’s yelp of surprise sounded in Peter’s ear as the web folded in around them, melting and sticking to their bodies. The threads holding the web to the walls began snapping, and Peter’s mind yelled at him that they were about to die, falling to the ground in a gooey mess, when the highest thread, holding them to the ceiling stayed true. It took Peter’s mind a few seconds to catch up with him and when it did, he realized they were chest-to-chest, hanging upside down in a thick cocoon of webbing.

It seemed to take Johnny a second longer to realize what had happened and that was enough time for Peter to feel the blinding heat of his flames and yell. Johnny gasped and instantly, his fire was gone. Then Johnny’s bright blue eyes were staring at the blank whites of his mask.

“Wha-“ he began to say but was cut off as his teammates went racing after the pigeon man.

“We’ll be right back!” Sue yelled, passing them by.

“You two just hang tight,” Ben laughed, as he followed Reed and Sue.

“Hey!” Johnny began to writhe back and forth like a worm on a fishhook. “Don’t just leave me here! Come back!”

Ben looked over his shoulder and winked. “Sorry ta leave ya hangin’,” he guffawed, and the Fantastic Four disappeared into the night, leaving a singed pigeon feather in their wake.

Johnny tried yelling after them a few more times but when he was met with only silence he groaned and the sound filled the warehouse. He fixed Peter with a glare.
“Way to go, Bug Brain.”

Peter tried to ease his head back as far as he could from Johnny. “You are not seriously trying to blame me. I had a perfectly good trap set up until you came along and ruined it.”

Johnny cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, but whose webs are we tangled up in right now?” He tried wriggling again but fell still after the web refused to give. “How long does this stuff last anyway?”

Peter considered this. “About an hour.”

“An hour!?” Johnny’s eyes looked like they’d bug out of his head. “Are you kidding me? What’re we supposed to do? Just hang here for an hour? My head’ll explode!”

“And what a tragic loss it would be,” Peter said, not sure if that was a teasing comment or a flirty one. He powered forward. “Can’t you just melt the webs?”

“Not without burning through you at the same time,” Johnny said flatly. His eyes darted to the space between them, where—even with his accelerated healing—Peter’s skin still felt like it’d been smacked with a frying pan.

Peter tried to ignore the pain as he said, “It’s okay. I heal fast. I can handle it.”

“No.”

“It’s not gonna scar if that’s what you’re-“

“I said no.” His voice was absolute and Peter’s mouth clamped shut of its own accord.

“What about you?” Johnny said. “Can’t you, like…break it? You’re strong, right?”

Peter wriggled his arms, one of which was curled between them, the hand flat against Johnny’s shoulder. The other was jammed under Johnny’s arm, the hand stuck to the small of his back. Peter tried to ignore that, along with the rest of him that was currently pressed flush against Johnny. He tried to remind himself that this was not a desirable position—there was Frankenstein’s pigeon wreaking havoc on Brooklyn—but his body, which was so used to the hot press of Johnny against him, wanted to fall back into routine. Only the thought of the fifty foot drop that would most certainly kill them kept him under control.

“I can’t,” he finally managed, wiggling his fingers where they were caught on Johnny. “I’d snap you in half if I tried.”

“Guess that’s out then,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably best.”

“Ugh!” Johnny threw his head back and groaned, giving Peter a great view of his bobbing Adam’s apple.

For a few minutes they hung in silence. Johnny’s face had grown steadily redder but he refused to look at him, instead choosing to focus on some moldy crate over his shoulder. His breath still fanned against Peter’s mouth though, and his hands were stuck on Peter’s thigh and hip. Peter was grateful for his mask; he imagined his face was rivalling Johnny’s on the red scale.

Johnny was the one to break the silence.

“Since we’re stuck here and you can’t run away I’m gonna say this.” He looked at Peter without any hint of humour. “Stay away from my boyfriend.”

Peter wondered for a moment if he’d made his mask too thick and he wasn’t hearing properly, but Johnny continued to glare at him and he decided, no, his sewing skills weren’t that cruddy. His life was just a joke.

“Your what?” he finally exclaimed.

“Don’t play dumb,” Johnny growled. “Though I guess it mustn’t be that hard. Peter. Stay away from him.”

Peter’s head was still reeling. His brain was trying to compute what Johnny was saying but the buffering was taking a while.

“And why would I need to stay away from him?” he asked.

“Because you’re a soulless home-wrecker!” Johnny spat, and they started to swing slightly. “First you try and take all the glory, then you’re suddenly Reed’s favourite, and now you’re in Pete’s spotlight?”

“You-“

“It wasn’t enough for you to steal my terf, now you’re after my man? No! I refuse to have my life stolen by some bug enthusiast! I-”

“Would you shut up?” Peter snapped, the tether tying him to his sanity finally breaking. “You’re stupid. And ridiculous. You’re stupidly ridiculous. For one thing, spiders are not bugs, okay? And I’m not after your life.” He had to pause at the strangeness of what he said next. “And I’m definitely not trying to steal your boyfriend.”

Johnny scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You would say that.”

“Yeah!” Peter countered, aware that his voice was sounding rather shrill. “I would! Because it’s the truth. You think because I let him take some pictures of me that I’m cheating on you?” Johnny’s confused expression made him pause, realize what he’d said, and backpedal. “I mean…that he’s cheating on you? That’s-”

“If you say ‘ridiculous’ I’m gonna explode,” Johnny said but some of the fire had gone out of his gaze. He was looking at Peter, his eyes darting from one white eye to the other. His brows creased and he looked pained, like he desperately wanted to believe him.

The angry vein, which had popped out on his forehead, retreated at that soft gaze and Peter sighed.

“I just can’t believe this. That’s the reason you hate me so much?”

“I mean, you’re pretty annoying but that definitely helped.”

“Well, if I promise I’m not interested in your boyfriend will you stop being such an ass all the time?” Peter shoved the hand glued to Johnny’s shoulder, making them swing again.

“Do you swear?” Johnny asked.

Peter flexed the fingers of his left hand until they were standing to attention. “Scout’s honour.”

“You were not a scout.”

“You don’t know. I could’ve been an exotic belly dancer; I could’ve been a scout. You just don’t know.”

Johnny’s mouth was screwed up at both corners as he stared intently at Peter. Peter didn’t know if he was trying to activate some form of untapped x-ray vision and see into his soul or if he was just concentrating.

After what felt like an eternity Johnny said, “Fine. I won’t care if Reed or anyone else asks you to help out on missions. I might even put a cap on all those ‘Bug Brain’ comments-“

“Which you should anyway ‘cause they’re scientifically inaccurate.”

“-but that doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

Peter blinked at Johnny, who had a resigned look on his face and almost laughed. He never knew he’d be so happy to hear someone say they didn’t have to like him. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for when he first donned the spandex but resignation was a hell of a step forward from despise.

“Give it time,” he said, a smile blooming behind his mask. “I can be pretty charming when I want to be.”

“Doubtful,” Johnny said but a smile pulled at his lips. He cast his blue gaze around the warehouse. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we’re left with the small issue of hanging upside down in an abandoned warehouse while an evil bird-man rampages through the city.”

Peter glanced about the room, looking for any leverage—maybe if he could wriggle one hand free he could-

The hand, which had been pressed to Johnny’s back broke his pinky finger through the webbing. He tried wiggling the rest of his fingers but they remained caught against Johnny.

Okay, Peter thought. A pinky. How can this help us?

“What’s going on back there?” Johnny asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. “I heard a rip.”

“I got a finger free,” Peter said, “but I don’t know what to-“

Peter was struck with a thought. He tipped his head back and saw their shadow against the wall, swaying ever so slightly.

“I’ve got it!” he yelled and Johnny winced at his volume. “Swing with me.”

“What?”

“Swing!” And Peter began to thrust his hips, forward and back, trying to build momentum. He viciously ignored the thought that he was basically dry-humping Johnny and focused on rescuing them.

Johnny seemed to catch on but still he refused to move. “But why? You can’t catch ahold of anything, you’ve only got one finger.”

“One finger’s all I need.”

Johnny snickered.

Peter sighed. “Just get moving.”

Johnny relented and then they were both pushing and pulling their weight, moving like a pendulum. It didn’t take long before they were swinging in a wide arc. Peter had almost managed to free another finger and was eying a beam behind Johnny.

“Okay,” Peter panted as he pulled back his weight and Johnny pushed forward. “This is it. Here we go.”

With a grunt, they both swung themselves right. The beam came speeding at them and Peter braced his hand. His other finger ripped through the webbing just as they hit the beam. The pads of his fingers felt the wood and he latched on. His knuckles were seriously cramping but they held on.

When they didn’t fall back Johnny let out a little whoop.

“We’re not completely upside-down any more,” he cheered. “Now we’re only partially upside-down.”

“Just let me-“ Peter mumbled as he worked at the tear with his fingers. It gave way after a minute of solid scratching and freed his hand.

He began walking his fingers up the beam, carrying the two of them slowly up, until the web line holding them to the ceiling grew slack enough for him to turn them right side up. As soon as he did they both let out guttural sighs of relief. Peter had never felt so grateful to gravity for releasing the blood from his head.
“Keep climbing, Spidey,” Johnny whispered, his head lolling to one side as his face returned to its normal colour.

And Peter did. Slowly but surely—finger by finger—they made their way up to the rafters. All the while Peter and Johnny were nose-to-nose. Peter didn’t mind and it seemed that Johnny was so exhausted he didn’t care either.

Once they reached a, blessedly, horizontal beam, Peter worked his fingers, up, over the edge, until they could roll onto their sides. They rolled over a few times before they came to a stop, just on the lip of the beam, with Johnny on top of Peter.

The solid, warm weight of him had Peter wanting to wrap his arms around him and sleep for a week. His head dropped to the wood and he let out a long groan.
“You okay?” Johnny asked. His lips were right next to Peter’s ear, sending a shiver down his body.

“Mm,” Peter hummed, his eyes falling shut. “Jus’ tired.”

“How’s your skin?” Johnny inquired. He wiggled his thumb from the hand on Peter’s hip to stroke at his navel. “Still hurt?”

“Nah,” Peter said, though his stomach was definitely still tingling. “Like I said, I heal fast.”

“I’m just-“ Johnny swallowed thickly and ducked his head. Peter lifted his head up to see Johnny’s eyes scrunched up like wrinkled paper. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean it. I would never do that on purpose.”

“Never thought you had, Sparky,” Peter croaked, both from fatigue and the look of shame on Johnny’s face.

They lay there, waiting for the web to disintegrate. They hardly talked, given that they were both exhausted from hanging upside down longer than any human should—though Peter was sure Johnny was feeling it more than he was. And although he knew they should be alert, what with the giant mutated B-movie monster storming around out there, Peter soon found it hard to keep his eyes open. It was the steady sound of Johnny’s breathing that sent him off to sleep.

Peter woke with a start. His brain immediately recognised that he was not in his bed and his fighting instincts kicked in. He lashed out with his arms, tearing through something gooey. He tried to sit up but the weight on top of him groaned in protest and pushed him back down. Finally, Peter’s limping mind caught up with him and he remembered where he was, why he was gooey, and who was lying on top of him.

Johnny was fast asleep, his head burrowed into the crook of Peter’s neck, and lightly snoring. The web gluing his arms to Johnny had loosened significantly and he stretched until they snapped. Peter flexed his arms a few times to get feeling back into his stiff muscles, then got to work on peeling the rest off Johnny, who slept blissfully unaware throughout it all.

Once he was done Peter patted Johnny on the back.

“Torch. Hey. Wake up.”

Johnny groaned again and nosed at Peter’s neck, which in his still sleep-addled brain wasn’t helping.

Peter tugged lightly at Johnny’s hair and flicked his ear, which made him lift his head up.

Johnny stared blearily down at Peter for a solid minute, his eyes squinted and cloudy, before he rolled off Peter and sat up. Peter sat beside him and let his legs dangle off the rafter. Johnny stared into the distance, his eyes still crinkled at the corners.

“Those bastards,” he mumbled. “They said they’d come back for me.” And with that he put his head on Peter’s shoulder and began to snore again.

Peter had to restrain himself from throwing his arms up in the air and sending Johnny falling off the beam. Instead he sighed and looked at the man he’d inexplicably given his heart to. Johnny’s rumpled blonde hair was splayed against his shoulder and Peter reached up to stroke it.

“Okay, sleepyhead,” he said, slinging Johnny behind him and locking his arms around his neck. “Let’s get you home.”

Peter stood up and hooked his arms under Johnny’s knees. Johnny made a confused sound and then Peter was leaping off the beam.

Johnny was awake in an instant, squeezing at Peter’s neck with a strangled gasp as Peter shot out a web and swung them out of the warehouse.

“What the hell!” Johnny shouted over the wind as they whistled between buildings.

Peter laughed and dropped low enough to let his heel tap the roof of a car. “Glad to have you back with us, Firefly!”

“That was so not cool!” Johnny yelled back. “What the hell, man!?”

Peter just tipped his head back and laughed some more. He was still chuckling when they reached the Baxter Building. Peter let go of his web and landed on the side of the building with a quiet plap! He began the crawl up to Johnny’s window, enjoying the evening breeze cooling his hot skin.

Johnny was silent as Peter climbed and when he glanced at his reflection in the glass windowpanes, he saw a quiet wonder in Johnny’s eyes as he stared out at the city.

“What’s with that look?” Peter asked and Johnny snapped his eyes back to him. “You must’ve flown over this city hundreds of times.”

“It’s different,” Johnny replied, and went back to looking at the sparkling cityscape. “When I’ve got my fire I’m weightless. I can fly and float and not have to worry about falling. But like this-“ his fingers flexed ever so slightly against Peter’s shoulders, “-I can feel everything. The wind, my weight, all of it. It’s nice.”

He smiled and Peter was reminded of the days before they were dating, when Johnny would sit with him on some balcony or building top for hours, just talking and staring out at the city as the sun went down and the lights came on. His chest tightened at the wave of fondness that surged through him.

“I guess it is,” Peter said, his voice a little shaky.

He continued to climb until they reached the right floor and Peter could see Johnny’s room through the window. He wiggled his fingers underneath the jam until he got a good grip and hefted it up.

“There we go,” he grunted and climbed through. “You should really shut your windows all the way. Never know what kinda weirdo’s are out there.”

Once inside he stood up Johnny let go, stepping back.

“Speaking of,” he said, eying Peter, “how did you know where my room was?”

Peter decided he was the worst person at leading a double life there was. He edged his way to the window and laughed, trying for nonchalance.

“Oh, I could smell your ego seeping outta this place a mile away.” Johnny quirked an eyebrow at him. Peter began to sweat. “Um, keep your friends close and you enemies closer, and all that jazz? I have eyes everywhere?” Johnny looked unimpressed and Peter continued to back up until his legs hit the wall and he fell backwards, out the window.

Peter shot a web to the nearest building and swung away. He looked back to see Johnny standing at his window, staring after him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

“I still don’t like you!”

“Your hair’s stupid!” Peter yelled back, before swinging out of view.

Johnny stood by his window, watching the spot where Spider-Man had disappeared. He felt…strange. It could have been the blood still draining from his head but this whole night had left his stomach knotted. On the one hand there was a relief that had lifted an ugly weight shackled to his ankles. Spider-Man wasn’t out to get him. He wasn’t trying to infiltrate his life and whisk his boyfriend away—and Johnny believed him. It was good to know that he was just irritating in a pesky way and not a ‘you-drag-my-life-through-the-gutter’ way. He supposed Peter was just pissed with him because he’d been acting like some obsessed, jealous lover. Which he supposed he was. 

But on the other hand, ever since he’d gotten wrapped up with Spidey, a little voice had been singing in the back of his head. He’d been beyond uncomfortable, cocooned in those webs, chests, and stomachs, and groins pressed flush against each other, knees knocked between legs, and hands plastered over bone and muscle. It was far closer than he’d ever wanted to get to Spider-Man.,,except he’d fallen asleep on him, hadn’t he? Twice if he remembered correctly. That wasn’t something you did to someone you were supremely repulsed by.

Then there was this apparent personal knowledge Spidey seemed to have about him. He’d drop it casually into conversation, little things like knowing what brand of toothpaste he used, or about his childhood crush on Gregory Peck. He didn’t even seem to realise what he’d said half the time and it just put Johnny more on edge. Did Peter talk about him to Spider-Man? Enough for these innocuous things to stick in the web-slingers memory? And then there was the whole knowing where his room was. That was a little weird.

He didn’t know what to think, and filed it away to puzzle over later. He walked to the kitchen, deciding to make himself a coffee, when Reed, Ben, and Sue shuffled through the door.

Johnny paused, coffee pot in hand, as he took in the state of them. All three of them were covered in feathers and bits of fluff. Sue had a particularly large feather sticking out of her hair, and Reed couldn’t seem to stop sneezing. Ben was clutching a fistful of feathers like some kind of hunting trophy, flecks of blood dotting the quills. Johnny poured his coffee.

“So, how was bird watching?” he said, taking a sip.

Reed muttered something about a saline wash between sneezes and disappeared into his lab. Ben walked, to the window, opened it, and threw the feathers outside, to be carried away by the wind.

“I used ta hate pigeons as a kid,” he said to no one in particular. “Thought they were evil. Got over it. Turns out I was right.” He stomped to the living room and collapsed on the couch, then immediately started snoring.

Sue rolled her eyes and sat down at the kitchen counter, opposite Johnny. He plucked the feather from her hair and she just sighed.

“I don’t feel bad for you,” he told her over the rim of his mug.

“Why?” she asked, propping her cheek on her fist and looking at him flatly. “Because we left you tangled up with Spider-Man? Get over it, Johnny. I just had to chase a delusional half-man, half-evil chicken through traffic for an hour.”

“Well my head almost exploded.”

“I got dropped in a dumpster full of rotten produce.”

“I almost threw up from motion sickness and dizziness.”

“I had to watch Ben pluck a man.”

“My hands will never not have cramps after being glued to Spider-Man for too long.”

“Did you touch his butt?”

Johnny’s next hardship halted on his lips. He sputtered at his sister, who blinked innocently at him.

“Wha-? No! I mean, only a little- It’s none of you business!”

She laughed and grabbed the coffee pot. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.”

Johnny sipped his coffee with what he hoped was dignity. “It was just a graze of the fingers; it hardly counts.”

“It counts,” she said behind her coffee, a twinkle in her eye.

Reed shuffled through the background, the nozzle of a bottle stuck up one nostril. He waved to them as he passed and Johnny wiggled his fingers in return.

“Anyway,” he said, “Spider-Man and I are all good now. Except I think he’s stalking me.”

Sue paused, mid sip. She looked at Johnny, slowly set her mug down, laid her forehead on the kitchen counter, and groaned.

Johnny poked at her shoulder once she was done but she didn’t move.

“Sue? Sue, I’m serious, he’s a total creep. Sue, help me. Sue?”

Reed’s head snaked around the doorway on his noodle neck. “We should get some rabies shots. I think he pecked me.”

Peter was huddled upside down in the corner of the roof, typing away on his laptop when Johnny burst through the door. Peter almost dropped his computer and flattened himself against the wall as Johnny breezed in, smiling and looking around the seemingly empty apartment.

“Peter?” Johnny called, stepping into the living room.

Peter crawled across the ceiling, berating himself for ever giving Johnny that spare key. Peter was directly above him when Johnny turned his head, and Peter had to scramble to keep out of view. Johnny continued to call his name, ducking his head into the kitchen and Peter’s bedroom. Peter dropped behind Johnny soundlessly, took a few steps back before walking up to Johnny, so as to appear like he’d just walked from his room.

“Hey,” he said and Johnny whirled around, his coat flapping behind him.

“Pete! Hey…” his brow furrowed as he glanced from the bedroom door to Peter. “I thought I…Whatever. So! Guess what?”

Peter set his laptop down on the coffee table, which was currently covered with Spider-Man pictures. “What?”

“Me an’ this guy,” Johnny said, swiping up one of the photos, “are best buds now.”

Peter tried to keep his face neutral. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.” Johnny fell back onto Peter’s sofa and propped his feet up on the table. “Turns out Spider-Man’s not a total jerk.”

A smile twisted Peter’s mouth and he sat down next to Johnny. He propped his elbow up on the sofa back and tipped his head towards Johnny’s until he could feel blonde hairs tickling his forehead. “That so?”

Johnny hummed, tucking a leg in, so their knees were bumping. “Yeah. And listen, I know lately I’ve been kind of a, uh…”

“Butt head? Pool noodle? Nerf herder?” Peter suggested.

Johnny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose but he was smiling. “Yes, all of those things. And I’m sorry, okay? I got in my head somehow that Spider-Man was trying to—I don’t know—steal you away from me, I guess?”

Peter couldn’t help it, he tried to hold it in, but a gale of laughter burst out of him in big, heavy brays. He fell against Johnny’s chest, pushing Johnny onto his back. Johnny stared at the cracked ceiling over Peter’s shoulder, muttering about how Peter was the one being ridiculous, as he continued to laugh. Once he’d gotten himself under control Johnny rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that funny,” he huffed.

Peter shook his head. “Oh, it is. It really is. You don’t even know.”

Johnny glanced down at him, tiny, spiky shadows from his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. Peter knitted his fingers and propped his chin on his hands, palms flat on Johnny’s chest. He stared back and gave him a soft smile.

Johnny reached up to stroke his hair and Peter was struck with the memory of doing the same thing last night.

“So, are we good now?” Johnny asked, voice little more than a whisper. “I’ve really missed you, you know?”

Peter did know. He swallowed thickly, pulled himself up and hovered over Johnny for a moment, just staring at the tumble of blonde curls over his forehead, his open and sincere eyes, his soft, pink mouth, before leaning down and kissing him. He pressed his lips feather-light at first and Johnny made a needy sound in the back of his throat. It was that little moan, and his hands coming up to grip Peter’s hips that sent him over the edge, and he crashed their mouths together.

“I missed you too,” Peter breathed between kisses.

Johnny replied by pulling him down until there was nothing left between them and Peter did what a mask, several layers of webbing, and self-control had restrained him from doing yesterday. He bit a Johnny’s lip, raked his fingers through his hair and dragged their hips together. He held Johnny’s face in his hands and poured all his pent up frustrations and longings into that kiss.

Johnny’s hands couldn’t stay still, skimming up and down Peter’s back, over his shoulders and ass. He hooked a leg around Peter’s waist, trapping them together, and dug his other heel into the sofa cushion. He couldn’t stay quiet either, moaning and gasping against Peter’s mouth, which just made Peter kiss him harder. Then Johnny’s hand was slipping under his sweater and it wasn’t long before they were both shirtless and groping at hot skin.

Peter began kissing a trail along Johnny’s jaw then down his neck. He grazed his teeth against Johnny’s Adam’s apple and he gasped, fisting his hands in Peter’s hair.

“Peter,” Johnny whined, tugging at his hair, “I-mm, I lo-“

Peter cut him off and sealed their mouths together again. Peter was so wrapped up in it all—the slick way their lips slid together, the heat of Johnny’s skin pressed to his own, the heady sighs Johnny was making. It was all building up inside him in a pleasant rush and he wanted so desperately to just let go and sink in it.

But he couldn’t.

He wrenched his mouth off of Johnny’s and eased back enough to breath.

“Wait- wait,” he panted, eyes screwed shut. “Wait, hold on.” He grabbed Johnny’s hands out of his hair and pinned them down. “Hold on a second.”

Johnny’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a whistling breath. He stared up at Peter, his eyes glazed with unchecked desire, and weakly flexed his fingers. Peter swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

“I think we should stop,” he said, despite his pounding blood.

“…Oh,” Johnny said weakly. “Yeah, uh, okay, sure. If that’s, uh- that’s what you want.”

He could feel Johnny’s pulse through his wrists and decided that wasn’t helping. He let go and leaned back until he was sitting on Johnny’s hips. Johnny stayed where he was, staring dazedly up at the roof.

“What is it?” Peter asked, taking deep breaths.

“Nothing,” Johnny replied, keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling. “Just realising things about myself.”

Peter laughed shakily and swung his legs to the floor. His knees felt like marshmallows and his muscles felt like they’d been boiled.

Peter jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay,” Johnny responded, gaze distant.

The picture Johnny made, lying shirtless, lips kiss-swollen and hair tousled, made Peter want to say ‘fuck it’, and resume what they’d been doing. He tore his eyes away and made a beeline to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He turned the water on scorching hot, and turned his face towards it.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go there with Johnny, not with the way things were. Johnny might have worked through some of his Spider-Man issues, and he might even be more tolerable around Peter while he was suited up. But in Johnny’s mind they were still two different people and Peter couldn’t stand that split. He wanted Johnny to want all of him. He supposed that meant coming clean to Johnny, but he wasn’t ready for that. Two personas just meant twice the chance for rejection.

Peter stared at the shower drain and wondered what the hell he was going to do.

Johnny listened to the sound of the shower running and tried not to think about how naked Peter was. He just stared at the crackling plaster of Peter’s ceiling and wondered at himself.

He’d thought that time he’d made out with Medusa while she’d held him down with her hair had been a one-off thing. But, no. Apparently this was one of his things.

He rolled over and groaned. His bed was going to feel very cold that night.

Peter was halfway through tossing a webbed up Trapster into a dumpster when a cackling madman flew over him. He glanced up to see the Wizard speeding over congested traffic. A second later Johnny, flames trailing behind him like the blazing wake of a comet, came flying after him. Peter hoisted the squirming criminal over his head and dumped him amongst the soiled garbage bags.

“Here you go, Pasty,” he said cheerily. “You’ll fit right in. Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ he shot a web line at an adjacent building and swung after the action.
“Hey, Torchy!” he said, once he’d caught up to Johnny. “Pleasant day for a romp, wouldn’t you say?”

“If by ‘romp’,” Johnny said, shooting a jet of fire just left of the Wizard, “you mean high-speed, air-borne chase, then yeah, totally.”

Peter had to flip and swerve to keep up with the flyers, but he could see they weren’t gaining on ol’ Wiz at all. They turned onto a long, straight road, the Wizard flying just ahead of them. Peter thought of trying to shoot for his feet, but quickly ruled it out as it would probably sending both he and the Wingless Weirdo falling to their deaths. It did, however, give him another idea.

“Torch! Flame off your left foot!”

“Huh?” Johnny shot him a befuddled look. “Why?”

“Just do it!” Peter held onto his webline and dropped back to let Johnny fly ahead.

Surprisingly, Johnny’s boot extinguished and Peter gave a little fist pump before aiming a webline at the sole and firing. He hit the mark and was pulled along like a cowboy who’d roped a wild bull.

“Whoo! I’m Indiana Jones!” he whooped, shooting a finger gun at a group of wide-eyed tourists.

“How is this helping?” Johnny yelled over his shoulder and Peter waved him off.

“Just get as close to him as you can!”

Johnny made a big show of rolling his eyes but put on the speed regardless. The heat of Johnny’s fire was making Peter sweat profusely under his mask but they were gaining on him, inch by inch.

When Johnny was an arm’s reach from the Wizard’s toes, Peter shouted, “Now arc over!”

This time Johnny didn’t question him and dove up, flipping onto his back. Peter heaved himself up with the taught web and let go at the last second. He flew forward, faster than he’d ever managed to swing himself, and plummeted, feet-first, into the his target. The Wizard yelped and dropped whatever priceless artifact it was he’d stolen.

“What are you doing, you fool? I’ll destroy-“

Peter webbed his mouth shut. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this one before.” He grabbed him by the collar, shot a webline at a street lamp and skidded to a halt on the road. By the time Johnny landed beside him, the Wizard was all webbed up and hanging from the same street lamp. He squirmed and yelled muffled expletives at them and Peter shook his head.

“That potty mouth’ll get you nowhere.” He turned on his heel to face Johnny. “Nice flying back there, Blondie.”

Johnny, holding what looked to be a very expensive vase (whoops, Peter thought, forgot about that one), swept his hair back. “It’s what I do.” He slapped Peter on the back, and left his hand there, braced between his shoulder blades. “Sweet little maneuver back there. Uh, good thinking.” He scrunched his nose up. “We almost make a good team.”

Peter clicked his tongue. “Who’da thunk it?” The whir of police sirens tickled his ear and he waved to Johnny. “Well, it’s been real, but I’ve gotta split.”

Johnny grabbed his arm before Peter could swing away. “Hold on. I don’t know if you heard about it or not, but are you going to this thing at the Avenger’s Mansion?”

Peter halted. “There’s a thing? And why should I know about it?”

“Tony Stark’s throwing this party and all heroes, great and small—he wanted to include Wolverine—are invited.” He cracked a grin, flashing that movie star smile. “You could be my plus two.”

Peter frowned. “’Two’?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. After Peter.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow at that. Johnny hadn’t yet asked him to this superhero shindig. And he didn’t relish the idea of cloning himself to be Johnny’s entourage.
“As much as I’d love to, I can’t. I’m fish-sitting.”

Johnny snorted. “Sounds to me like you’re just fishing for excuses.”

Peter waggled a finger under his chin. “One more crack like that and you’ll be sleepin’ with the fishes.”

Johnny flicked his hand away. “Yeah, that was pretty bad. You’re almost as terrible as Peter. You two must be rubbing off on me.” He pretended to shudder and Peter punched his arm.

“Hey, watch it,” Johnny said, rubbing the offended arm. “I bruise easy.”

Peter chuckled, “Don’t I know it,” and froze. He’d been thinking of the trail of hickeys he’d left hidden under the high neckline of Johnny’s uniform last night and just blurted it out.

Johnny was staring at him, eyes literally blazing. Peter noticed a slight shaking in his shoulders that said he was more than a little peeved. He jabbed an accusing finger at Peter’s chest.

“You just did it again!” he screeched.

Peter was glad his mask could hide his shifty eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Johnny looked ready to tear his hair out. “You just said something like you know me! And not just general knowledge stuff or things you can read in teen magazines. Like, personal stuff! What gives?”

“Nothing gives,” Peter said, backing away from the heat pulsing off Johnny. “Only the spirit of Christmas and charitable hearts in these trying times.” Then he shot a webline to the nearest building and swooped up and away.

Johnny let out a frustrated scream below him but Peter didn’t turn around. He just swung through the city in a nervous haze, wondering how he was still alive.

Johnny ended up asking him to the Avengers party that afternoon. Peter tried his best to feign surprise.

“What? I didn’t know superheroes went to stuff like parties.”

“What’re you talking about?” Johnny asked, blinking up at Peter from where his head was laying on Peter’s lap. “You were there at my twenty-fifth.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, screwing his nose up at the memory. “Ben arm-wrestled Bono. And Al Pacino. And the Rock.”

“Oh, yeah. They broke the table. Sue made me clean the toilet for that one.” He tugged at Peter’s shirt. “So you’ll come?”

Peter buried his fingers in Johnny’s silky hair and began to stroke. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t I stick out a little?”

“No way,” Johnny murmured, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned back into Peter’s hand. “There’ll be lots of non-supers there. Hence, the plus-one system. Besides, if you don’t come I’ll be bored.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, sure. Mansion full of people who can fly and shoot lazer fireworks from their fingers and you need me to liven up the place.”

“Come on,” he whined. “Who am I gonna make fun of everyone’s outfits with?”

“Reed?”

“Not funny enough.”

“Sue?”

“Too classy to sink to that level.”

“Ben?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Ben’s just gonna get into a drinking contest with Luke Cage, like he always does. C’mon Pete, you’re my only hope.”

Peter gazed at his pleading blue eyes and hummed thoughtfully. “Say that again like Princess Leia and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Johnny deflated against him and sighed with every pore in his body. He clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes at Peter. “Help me Peter Parker. You’re my only hope. You dork.”

“That’s going off script but I’ll accept it.” Peter laughed and scuffed Johnny’s hair.

He yelped and rolled off Peter’s lap, landing in a heap on the carpet. Peter laughed as Johnny patted down his hair and scowled at him. The pout pulling at his mouth only made Peter laugh harder.

This is good, he thought as Johnny checked his reflection on the blank screen of Peter’s old T.V. If I can keep things like this it’ll all be good. He just hoped he was strong enough to keep it all together.

It was the day before the party when the side of Peter’s apartment blew up. He’d been patching up a hole in his suit, sitting cross-legged on the ceiling when a high-pitched hum filled the air and his spider-sense blared in his head. A moment later the wall exploded, blasting blocks of plaster and steel across the room. Peter dropped from the roof, his instincts making him duck under a pillar and avoid the worst of the debris but he still got pelted along his back and right side. A particularly sharp scrap of plaster hit him under his armpit and he felt a snap.

Peter dove behind the kitchen counter, his side screaming as pain stabbed at his lung. Yep, definitely a broken rib. He threw down his Spidey costume and peered over the counter to see his apartment in complete destruction.

Then a voice came booming from the massive hole in the wall.

“There is no point in hiding, Peter Parker!” the Wizard called out, hovering over the remains of his coffee table. “Surrender and I will make your demise painless.”

Peter’s mind working in over drive, a million thoughts passing in and out of his head in a second. It was the Wizard, here at his house, calling him by his name.
He knows! his brain screamed. He didn’t know how but somehow the Wizard had figured out who he was. His body was cold all over, his fingers numb where they were gripping the lip of the counter. It was his worst nightmare coming to life. If he knew who Peter was then he must know about his family, his friends.

Aunt May.

Mary Jane.

The counter cracked under his grip. His teeth were clenched up tight as a vice. Cold sweat was beading on his forehead. If anything had happened to either of them because oh him he was going to-

“Maybe I’ll wait,” the Wizard was saying. “Killing you in front of the Human Torch will be much more satisfying.”

Peter blinked, all thoughts of avenging his fallen family fleeing from his mind.

“What?” he said, standing from his hiding spot and revealing himself. “What does the Torch have to do with this?”

“Do not try to play dumb,” the Wizard said, kicking over half an armchair. “The whole world knows you and the Torch are lovers.”

Peter held up a hand, taking everything in. “Wait,” he said, his mind whirring. “You mean you’re here to kill me as revenge…against the Torch?”

“I see you are the brains of the two.” The Wizard dropped to the ground and glanced at Peter’s camera, which had miraculously survived the explosion, lying on the floor. A contemptuous smile curled his lip and he raised a boot over it. “You may grovel if you wish, but I tell you: nothing will keep me from his agonised screams.” He stomped down and crushed Peter’s camera with a loud crunch. He turned his amused gaze back up. “You may now commence the grovelli-“

Peter’s fist connected with his jaw, cutting him off. A loud clack sounded as his teeth snapped together. Blood spurted from the Wizard’s mouth and Peter was pretty sure there was a lump of his tongue lying on the floor but he didn’t care. He stalked to where the Wizard was struggling to get up from the ground. Peter grabbed him by the beard and yanked him up. The Wizard yelped and looked at him with newfound fear in his eyes.

“Are you kidding me!?” Peter screamed, punching him again, this time in the nose. He felt bone crunch under his fist and the satisfaction made him forget about his own busted bones. “You destroyed my apartment for that?”

He swung the bloodied villain around and threw him through the cracked door to his bedroom. The door erupted in a shower of wood chips and splinters as the Wizard easily fell through. Peter stepped over the wreckage like a rampaging Godzilla.

“Who’s gonna pay to fix this, huh?” he yelled at the cowering Wizard.

The Wizard held a hand up to his gushing nose. “S-Surely insurance-“

“Do I look like I have insurance to you?” he hissed and kicked the Wizard so hard he went through the wall.

Peter didn’t let up, wailing into the Wizard with blow after blow. All he saw was red, the image of his camera—the one nice thing he owned—breaking apart in a mess of black chips and glass under the Wizard’s foot. For every dollar he’d spent on that camera he dealt a hard punch to the Wizard’s face, gut, chest—anywhere his fists could land.

Eventually he threw the Wizard back into the remains of his living room. He was battered, his teeth a jagged mess, blood welling out of the corners of his mouth, and huge, purple bruises littered all over his body. Peter dropped him, groans gurgling in bloody bubbles from his throat, on a patch of clear carpet. He walked to the gaping hole, which basically took up the whole wall, and looked down at the street. A large crowd had gathered on the pavement, pointing at his apartment and talking in loud, anxious voices. They all gasped when they saw Peter and he let out a heavy sigh.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialled.

“Hello, police?” he said, looking at the crowd and feeling a heavy resignation settle in his gut. “I’d like to report an incident.”

Johnny was beside himself.

“I saw the smoke and thought it was a fire but the closer I got the closer I realised I was going to your place and then it was your place and I didn’t know what the hell was going on and then I saw that huge hole and I-“

“Johnny,” Peter cut in. His rambling was making Peter’s head spin. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t really. His ribs were still poking out a little and hurt like hell every time he breathed in. Oh, and also his home was in ruins. That too.

Johnny tugged at his hair, which was a frayed, blonde mess. Worry lines were cut into every dip in his face and he wouldn’t let go of Peter’s shoulders. He’d arrived on the scene shortly after the cops had, took one look at the wreckage below him, and swooped down to scoop Peter off the edge of his newly furbished balcony. After a lot of struggling and insisting that yes, he was just fine, and no, the big, bad Wizard hadn’t hurt him, Johnny had let him down and allowed the paramedics to take a look at him.

Peter had managed to hide his ribs, and apart from the minor gashes and bruises he was just fine. The paramedic put some gauze over the bigger cuts told him to take a few days off work and sent him on his way. Peter nearly sagged from the relief. He couldn’t go to the hospital. Already his skin was knitting itself back together; in a few days his ribs would be healed too. They’d definitely have some questions for him down at the ER.

It was the police that were the problem. When giving his statement he told them Spider-Man had come to his rescue, saying he’d hid in the bathroom while Spider-Man did away with the Wizard. He hadn’t seen all the nitty, gritty details, and was slightly traumatised, you see, so couldn’t he just be on his way?

They grilled him more about Spider-Man than they did the Wizard, wanting to know what he’d said, where he’d went. Peter managed to feign ignorance long enough for them to get irritated with him and get dismissed. That was when Johnny had latched onto him and refused to let go.

“It’s not fine!” Johnny argued. He ran a tender thumb over a bruise on Peter’s cheekbone and sighed. The sound was ragged. “He did this because of me. He tried to hurt me through you. I put you in danger.”

“Oh, shut up,” Peter said, leaning his face out of Johnny’s touch. “Can this, for once, not be about you?”

Johnny winced. “Sorry. I’m just- this never should’ve happened.”

“What can ya do, Torchy?” Peter asked, watching as they wheeled the Wizard into the ambulance. “Lotta’ weirdos out there.”

The Wizard caught sight of him and seized up, his mouth shaping over a silent scream. He raised a shaky finger and pointed at Peter.

“Keep him away from me!” he shrieked, thrashing against the wrappings binding him to the stretcher. “He’s a maniac! A maniac!”

The doors shut; muffling his ravings, and Johnny turned a questioning eye on Peter.

Peter simply shrugged. “He’s delirious. Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Johnny sighed again and shook his head. He brought a hand to the back of Peter’s head and knocked their foreheads together.

“I was so scared when I saw it was your apartment,” he whispered. “It was like for this one moment the world just stopped moving. I saw the smoke and the hole in the wall and I was afraid I was too late. I was…” his voice cracked and Peter’s heart broke a little.

“Hey,” he said, leaning back and looking Johnny in the eye. “I’m okay, aren’t I?”

“But you so could’ve easily not been!” Johnny protested. “If it weren’t for Spider-Man, you might’ve-“

“It doesn’t matter what ‘might’ have happened,” Peter said. “This is what did happen. I’m okay and the Wizard has a collapsed lung.”

“Still,” Johnny said, his expression serious, “something like this can never happen again. I’m so stupid. I should’ve realised something like this would happen sooner or later. But anyway,” he paused. “I think you should move into the Baxter Building.”

Peter’s thoughts halted at that. “Huh?” was all that came out of his mouth.

Johnny nodded, looking determined. “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. That way you’ll be safe. I already talked to Reed and he’s fine with it.”

“Hold on,” Peter said, holding up a hand as if that would make it ‘hold on’. “You talked to Reed? When?”

Johnny looked at his shoes a little sheepishly. “A while ago, actually. I’ve been thinking about it sort of for a long time.”

“Why?” Peter asked, stupefied.

Johnny’s cheeks had gone pink and he still refused to meet Peter’s eyes. “Y’know,” he mumbled, “for protection. Besides,” he gestured to the smoking ruins of Peter’s apartment, “you’re kind of homeless now.”

Peter shook his head, trying to dislodge all the ‘huh?’s and ‘what?’s that had gotten stuck in there.

“I don’t need you guys to protect me,” he finally said.

“Um,” Johnny’s voice with high and incredulous, “obviously you do!” He threw an arm out to Peter’s apartment that, yes, was still a wreck.

Peter stood up then, feeling his nerves, which had been fried by one of the top five worst days of his life, about to snap. He shoved his twitching hands in his pockets and balled them up into tight fists.

“I think I’m gonna crash at MJ’s tonight,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’re still on for tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, watching him closely. “We can just skip it; I’m sure Tony would get it.”

“No. I want to. If I don’t I won’t have an excuse to not go to work.” He groaned as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, god. Jameson’s gonna be all over this.”

Johnny hummed and leaned back to take in Peter and the destroyed home behind him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever envied you less.”

Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he just groaned again.

“You mean your hot boyfriend asked you to move in with him?” Mary Jane said, appalled. “What the hell are you doing here then? Go, you fool!”

“It’s not like that,” he said, holding up a cushion against a barrage of shooing hands. “He wasn’t asking me to ‘move in’ with him. It was more of a witness protection program thing.”

MJ plopped onto the end of the couch, where Peter was lying, and set down the bowl of freshly popped corn on his knees. He’d arrived at her apartment a couple of hours ago, after he’d scavenged his apartment for any remaining valuables, including some clothes, his tooth brush, a blanket, one slipper, and his Spider-Man costume. He’d stashed the costume in his backpack and wrapped everything else up in a bindle he’d made out of a dishcloth and a broken half of a towel rack. He’d knocked on MJ’s door to find her a state of distress. Apparently his exploded apartment had made it onto the news.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he’d tried to say.

“So you weren’t attacked by a magical super villain?”

“He’s not actually magical-“

“And your place wasn’t completely destroyed?”

“I think the kitchen’s okay-“

“And you weren’t given CPR by a courageous nine-year-old girl?”

“Okay, that definitely didn’t happen. She was at least eleven.”

“Peter!”

Now, they were settled on Mary Jane’s couch, ready to watch What Women Want. Peter was eager to learn the eternal secrets of what women wanted.

“I don’t know,” Mary Jane said, throwing a piece of popcorn into Peter’s mouth. “You boyfriend of- How long have you guys been dating?”

“A while,” he mumbled.

“Ok, not too long then. Pretty soon to move in together, but not unheard of. This is you we’re talking about.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

She levelled a look at him. “Pete. You proposed to me two months into our relationship.”

Peter threw his hands up. “It was Valentines Day! I got caught up in the moment!”

MJ rolled her eyes. On the screen Mel Gibson was being told he wasn’t as appealing as a woman. Who’d’ve thunk it.

“Still,” she continued, speaking over a mouthful of popcorn. “Your serious boyfriend asks you to move in with him and you turn him down for your ex? That’s cold.”

“Can you not scold me right now?” he grumbled, sinking into the couch. “I think the universe has punished me enough today, don’t you?”

Mary Jane immediately softened. She rubbed his foot through his single slipper.

“Sorry. What’re you going to do?”

Peter dragged a hand down his face and sighed through his fingers. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

Mary Jane gave him a tight smile, her perfectly penciled eyebrows, knitting with concern. “Well, my couch is always open,” she said and gave his foot a squeeze.

“Thanks,” he said, feeling his chest swell at the sight of his good friend, smiling at him and rubbing his toes in the glow of the television. What had he ever done to deserve her?

She looked back to the screen. “You should totally move in with him though.”

Peter fell back against the couch arm with a loud grunt. “Come on, can’t we just watch the movie? I want to know what women want.”

MJ snorted. “Why?”

“Hey,” Peter said, shaking a finger. “Just because I’m off the market to all you ladies doesn’t mean I don’t want to be considerate to your feelings. I’m super sensitive like that.”

“Okay, Tiger,” she laughed, pushing away his wiggling toes. “Whatever you say.”

Peter had swung by Avengers Mansion plenty of time before. Sometimes in envy, when the press hailed them for their heroic endeavors while he was allocated ridicules and mistrust. Sometimes, after he single-handedly stopped bank heists or armed robberies, he’d sit opposite the building and gloat with the pigeons.

“You shoulda seen me out there, Ricky,” he’d said to one of the birds as he lounged against a stone gargoyle. “Took ‘em all out in ten seconds flat, no casualties—unless you count a few pearls off a chandelier. I’d like to see Captain America do that.”

Ricky just left him a splat of poop and flew away.

Seeing it from the ground was different though. For one thing, it was a lot bigger and regal-looking, all lit up from the inside like a light bulb. Long shadows were cast down the sloping, grassy lawn that lead up to the front door. There were people milling around outside, sipping from champagne flutes and more silhouettes could be seen against the windows.

Johnny led Peter by the hand, Sue and Reed on one side, Ben and Alicia on the other, up to the door. Peter tugged at his collar, which was buttoned up to his throat and choking him a little. Reed had wanted the team to wear their FF costumes but ample arguing from Johnny and Sue made him relent, allowing them to dress up in their neglected evening wear. Peter ended up borrowing a suit from Johnny, vetoing his offer to get him one tailored.

“This is fine,” Peter had said, shrugging on the first jacket Johnny tossed him.

Johnny had been appalled. “It’s too long in the arms. And too tight in the shoulders.”

“Eh,” was all Peter had said, much to Johnny’s annoyance.

He didn’t care, so long as he met the dress code. Besides, clothes were more of Johnny’s thing anyway.

Johnny was beaming in his midnight blue tux, his hair swept back in one elegant wave. Peter took a moment to appreciate how beautiful he was under the glow emanating from the mansion and smiled to himself. He could do this. He could do parties.

Ben rapped on the door loud enough to be heard over the chatter from inside. A few seconds later the door swung open to reveal a flustered butler. He quickly patted down his grey hair, which was sticking up at odd angles.

“Jarvis,” Reed said, his arm stretching across the foyer to shake Jarvis’s hand. “How’s the fort holding up?”

“Excellently, Dr. Richards,” he replied in a flat voice. Behind him the sound of glass shattering and a voice yelling “Sorry!” made him wince. “That’s only the twenty-second broken glass of the night.”

Reed chuckled in that deep, suave way adults chuckled. “We’ll be on our best behaviour. Where’s Tony?”

“I believe he’s in the parlor room, regaling Captain Danvers with some of the hilarious jokes he learnt in space.”

Sue made a small disgusted sound. “Last time it was subterranean jokes, now this?”

Reed led them through and suddenly an explosion of colour assaulted Peter’s eyes. There were people everywhere, covering the floor in a throng of red-carpet gowns, tuxedos, and spandex. Several men and women were floating above the crowd, conversing around the chandelier hanging over the grand floor. Peter recognised Angel flapping his huge swan wings over the long stair case, talking with Iceman, who was frozen over and sparkling like a disco ball. Hawkeye and Mockingbird were taking up an entire lounge, despite several loud complaints from the Black Widow, who was sitting on an ottoman and nudging them with her stiletto. A huge man Peter could only assume was Luke Cage was behind the bar, throwing cocktails to the shorter, blonder Iron Fist.

Ben caught sight of them and immediately made a line for them, dragging Alicia behind him. “Hey, Cage! You got any bourbon back there?”

Sue and Reed ducked into the parlor room, where, yes, Tony Stark was making a bad pun about stars to an exasperated-looking Carol Danvers.

“Man,” Peter murmured, staring.

Johnny followed his gaze then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, founding member of the Avengers, very impressive, yadda, yadda.”

“Not him,” Peter said with a wave. “Captain Marvel. I had the biggest crush on her for ages.”

“Oh?” Johnny grinned. “Well, why don’t we go say hello?”

“Uh, no,” Peter said, tugging at his collar again. “That’s okay, I-“

“No, really, she’ll want to meet you,” Johnny said, looping their arms together and dragging him across the ground.

“No, no,” Peter rambled, his shoes scuffing against the marble floor but getting swept along anyway.

Soon he was being stuffed into a parlor room that was steadily becoming over-populated. Tony Stark was leaning on the mantle over the fireplace, looking very dapper in a clean, black tux. His tie was gold with red striped across it, making Peter roll his eyes. He had a martini in one hand and with the other was gesturing in big, grand circles.

“So I say, ‘If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate,” Stark quipped.

Reed laughed, while Sue and Carol shared a humourless look. Peter couldn’t help it; he let a snort escape him. Several heads turned to look at him and Johnny stared as though he’d revealed himself to be a Skrull.

“You got that?” he said.

Peter scratched his nose, not looking anyone in the eye. “It’s a chemistry joke. A solution is a completely dissolved mixture of two or more compounds-“

“I don’t care,” Johnny held up a hand as though to deflect the chemistry lesson.

“Johnny,” Sue chided, her blonde eyebrows knitting together.

“It’s okay, Susan,” Stark said, holding a hand out for Peter to shake. “Not everyone can appreciate a quality joke.” Peter took his hand, furrowed with the cracks and creases of regular long hours of work. “Peter Parker, I assume?”

“You know my name?” Peter said dumbly.

“Sure,” Stark said. “You were on the news yesterday. And a few times before that.” He glanced at Johnny, who batted his eyelashes.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said. He’d hoped his bombsite of an apartment would brush over quickly, but it was not to be. Every news outlet seemed to be concerned about the Human Torch’s poor, homeless boyfriend.

“Spider-Man sure did a number on the Wizard,” Stark mused.

“Eh,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t think he feels too bad about it.”

“I’d hoped to meet him, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be coming.”

“I invited the guy,” Johnny said. “I don’t think this is really his scene though. He’s a total loner.”

“Gruffly put but true,” Reed said. “Apart from us I don’t think he has any other connections in the community.”

“He’s a real mystery,” Carol said, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “No one seems to know anything about him.”

Johnny snorted and wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist. “He’s hardly some enigmatic wonder child. Guy’s a bit of a weirdo, honestly.”

Peter glared a little at Johnny’s hand on his hip.

Sue hummed over her champagne glass. “Johnny has worked very closely with Spider-Man.”

Johnny shot her a look and Peter had to stifle a laugh.

Stark murmured something and took a sip from his glass. Johnny raised an eyebrow at him.

“Martini, Tony?”

“Ugh, no, unfortunately,” Stark muttered, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “Just soda water. The idea was to trick myself into thinking it was liquor by drinking from the glass. So far, unsuccessful.”

He stared at his glass resentfully and Johnny turned to Carol.

“So, Carol,” he said, that same mischievous grin from earlier returning. “Peter’s actually a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” she said, a hint of pearly white teeth flashing under her red lips as she smiled.

Peter nodded jerkily, aware that he was probably blushing quite obviously. “Sure. It’s, uhh, well, you’re great and stuff, you know?”

He was being an idiot and he knew it. Ever since he’d donned the tights himself, the glamour that had previously shone around every superhero had faded. It was partially that he now sort of saw himself as one of them and would be a little weirded out if someone was fawning all over him and also because after getting acquainted with the Fantastic Four, he was now painfully aware of just how human even the most glamourous of heroes could be. He looked back on his first bumbling meeting with Johnny and his family, and Daredevil too, and cringed. He’d thought he wouldn’t do that again. But, come on. It was Captain Marvel.

“Well, I’m honoured,” she said and shook his hand in a firm grip. Peter wasn’t close to fainting at all.

“Peter was actually hoping he could get a picture with you,” Johnny said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. His eyes were practically sparkling as Peter shot him a seething look.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Peter said, trying not to trip over his own tongue. “You don’t have to-“

“No, it’s alright,” Carol said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him to her side. “I love photo ops.”

She was taller than him in her high heels and Peter didn’t know what to do with his hands. He should probably hold her waist but he couldn’t do that. She was Captain-freaking-Marvel! She could probably crush his hand with her jutting hipbone, if that was even possible. He tried to smile but his face felt like it was made of rusted metal.

“I’m a little offended, Peter,” Stark said as Johnny snapped the picture.

Johnny’s smile only widened. “Well get in there, Tony.”

Peter then had two Avengers on either side of him and promised he would make Johnny pay for this, somehow.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Johnny said as they settled themselves down at the bar. “Most people would give anything to get their picture taken with a couple of high-brow heroes. You should be thanking me.”

“You’re a bastard,” was all Peter said as he stared down at the photo of him grimacing between Carol and Tony, who were both smiling pleasantly and not looking like they had cramps.

“No, I’m not,” Johnny quipped, as Danny Rand slid a glass of wine across the bar top to him. “My parents were married when they had me.”

“I don’t care,” Peter muttered, rubbing at the rim of his own glass. “You’re still a bastard. The first bastard born in wedlock.”

At the other end of the bar Ben and Luke Cage were slumped against each other. Luke was passed out entirely, while Ben mumbled incoherently and Alicia rubbed his shoulders. Behind the bar Danny had become the sole bartender and was trying to flip cocktails together with varying degrees of success.

“You’re not actually mad at me,” Johnny stated.

“Maybe I am,” Peter said loftily, turning his back on him. “You are, after all, a ridiculous human being.”

Peter felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. He didn’t try to suppress his smile as Johnny hummed against the back of his neck.

“But I’m so handsome,” he offered.

“You’re okay, I guess.”

“And loveable.” One hand snaked its way up Peter’s chest and began playing with his tie.

“Tolerable is more accurate.” Peter reached up and threaded his fingers through Johnny’s.

“You tolerate me so well.” Johnny led their entwined hands up to Peter’s chin and turned his head so he could see Johnny over his shoulder.

“Mm, someone has to.” Peter leaned back and bumped their noses together. He was in the process of sealing their lips together when a loud, female voice suddenly boomed next to them.

“Please, boys. There are children present.”
Peter jumped back to see a very tall, very green woman in a low-cut cocktail dress leaning back on a barstool next to them.

“Where?” Johnny asked and Peter could hear the slight whine in his voice. “This is an eighteen and over party.”

“I meant you,” Jennifer Walters said, grinning. “You’re the children.”

“Jen, please,” Johnny said, arms still locked securely around Peter. “Don’t you have a hot date to get back to?”

“Nope,” Jen said and spun around on her stool. Her curly hair fluttered around her like a green tornado. “As unbelievable as it may sound, yours truly is riding stag tonight.”

“You’re right, I can’t believe it,” Johnny deadpanned. “Just like I can’t believe you’re not taking a hint right now.”

Jen raised a be-jeweled hand up to her ample chest. “Johnny, I can’t believe you,” she said, her voice mock-aghast. “Is that any way to talk to a lady? “Besides,” she dropped a wink at Peter, “you haven’t introduced me to your cute friend.”

“Peter, this is Jen, She-Hulk, beloved friend and colleague, etcetera. Jen, this is Peter, my boyfriend.” He said this pointedly, staring her right in the eye. “Which you knew.”

Jen laughed, stealing Johnny’s wine glass and taking a sip. “Don’t get your feathers in a bunch, Hot Shot. So this is the infamous Peter.” She held a hand out, palm down, to him. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

Peter gripped her fingers and lightly shook, aware that she could probably crush his bones if she squeezed. “Oh, believe me, I’m getting a lot of pleasure out of watching this right now.”

“Ugh, don’t encourage her,” Johnny groaned.

“Ignore him,” Jen said, propping her chin on her fist. “So how did you guys meet? Did he make the first move? I’ll bet he made the first move.”

“Jen-“

“He did,” Peter affirmed. “Attack-kissed me in his car.”

“Bold,” Jen commented. “And completely in character.”

Johnny buried his face in the nape of Peter’s neck. “I didn’t hear you complain at the time,” he grumbled.

“Any ways,” Jen said, hopping off her stool and twirling around in a circle. “You boys wanna dance?”

“There’s no music to dance to-“ Johnny started to say, as a loud screech went over the intercom, which had been playing slow, classical music.

“Hallo, Avengers Mansion,” a heavy German accent screeched, filling the entire building. “Are you ready to get groovy?”

“Who authorized this?” said a voice Peter thought might have belonged to Captain America.

“The Incredible Nightcrawler is about to take you to Funkytown!”

Disco music began to blare through the mansion so loudly the glasses on the bar top rattled. There was a moment of stunned stillness before Kitty Pryde let out a loud “Whoop!” and began to dance on the stair railing. Boddy Drake and Warren Worthington joined her and soon, like a ripple effect, everyone else began to go to Funkytown as well. It wasn’t long before the grand floor had turned into a writhing mass of dancing bodies.

Jen waggled her eyebrows at Johnny and threw an invisible lasso around him. She began to pull and, after a brief rolling of the eyes, Johnny hopped toward her, dragging Peter behind him.

Jen pulled them right into the throng. On all sides superheroes were laughing and jiving, drunk on alcohol and something else. The ecstasy in the air, the thrum of the music pounding inside Peter’s chest. He twirled around with Johnny and grinned, feeling slightly feral.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Jen and Johnny were both great dancers, what with their gorgeous looks and confidant attitudes, but damn. Jen span and swung with an effortless power, like she knew her body down to every fine detail and just what commands to give it to make herself as attractive as possible. She flipped her hair in a cascade of green silk and Peter thought she looked like some ethereal, bodybuilding faerie.

And Johnny, whom Peter had only ever seen bust a move in DDR, was completely at home on the dance floor. He rocked and swung with Peter easily enough so as every move didn’t look strictly choreographed, but with enough grace that Peter noticed. He’d pulled at his tie and popped the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the dip of his collarbone and the trickle of sweat making its way down his neck. Peter watched it with rapt attention and found himself leaning in (to do what, he didn’t know. Nuzzle Johnny’s neck? Lick him?), only to be yanked back.

Then he was in Jen’s arms and she was hefting him up, quickly, suddenly, throwing him in the air. He made eye contact with Storm, who was shimmying fifteen feet in the air, before he fell back down and landed in Jen’s strong embrace.

“Hey, hey!” Johnny yelled over the music. “I’d prefer you didn’t kill him, thank you.”

He pulled Peter back to his side and Peter nearly fell. He’d fallen from pretty great heights while swinging through the city but being thrown was a different sensation entirely. He almost tripped over his own feet.

“Come on,” Jen grinned. “I would never. I was on the cheer squad in high school.”

“Sure, Shulkie,” Johnny said. “And I was on the chess team.”

“And what’s so wrong with chess-“ Peter began to say but stopped when Johnny wrapped his arms around his neck and tugged him close. Peter’s hands found Johnny’s hips and he heard Jen laugh behind them but didn’t turn around. He was zeroed in on Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes, normally an icy blue, were dark as deep lake water. He ducked his head and blinked at Peter beneath a full fringe of lashes. Peter gripped Johnny’s hips just a little tighter and swallowed thickly, his throat dry and rusty.

Johnny’s gaze flickered over his shoulder and fixed on something there. Peter turned to look and Johnny was already saying, “You see that girl over there?”
Peter followed his eyes and landed on a girl dancing with a group in a tight circle. There was a woman with long, red hair, that he could’ve sworn was moving on it’s own. Next to her was a tall, regal-looking man in a black and silver costume, his lips pressed into a thin line. A man covered in scales bopped next to what looked like a faun straight out of a Botechelli painting. The girl Johnny had indicated was in the middle of them all, dancing and laughing as though without a care in the world.

“That’s Crystal,” Johnny murmured in his ear.

Peter snapped back to look at him. “Crystal, Crystal? As in, your ex, Crystal?”

“The very same.”

Peter looked at her closely. At her tangerine hair and pretty face, like some princess out of a storybook.

“She’s pretty,” he said, feeling a little cold.

“Yeah.” Johnny tucked a hand under Peter’s chin and turned him back, until they were face-to-face. “But you’re pretty cute too.”

Then they were kissing, right there, surrounded by a hoard of dancing heroes. Peter wasn’t overly concerned with who saw.

The closet door banged open as Peter and Johnny stumbled in, limbs and mouths everywhere. The sound of the party blared on downstairs but Peter was blocking it out. His back hit the wall but he easily flipped them around until he was crowding Johnny into the corner. Johnny grabbed at his neck and pulled Peter’s face to his shoulder.

“You’re dumb,” he whispered into Peter’s ear.

Peter, who had been busy tugging Johnny’s shirt from his waistband, looked up at that. “Huh?”

“Worrying about Crystal,” he said, looping his arms around Peter’s neck and pressing searing kisses along his throat. “You’re dumb for doing that. You’re it, okay Peter?” He pulled back far enough to lock eyes and squeezed his neck a little tighter. “You’re it for me.”

Peter’s breath was coming out in hot clouds as he stared into Johnny’s open, sincere eyes that filled his world. He wanted to cry a little.

“You’re it for me too,” he said, his voice hushed, and crashed their mouths together.

Peter hooked his hands under Johnny’s knees and lifted him up. Johnny gasped as Peter pressed him against the wall and automatically crossed his legs around Peter’s waist. His blue gaze, clouded with wine and desire, fixed on Peter.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he murmured, pupils blown.

“You like that?” Peter grinned at the bobbing of Johnny’s throat.

“I like it better when you’re kissing me.”

Peter obliged and decided he liked it better that way too.

Peter ran his hand along seam going up Johnny’s thigh, easily holding him up with one hand. His blood was pounding with unchecked lust, his whole body screaming for Johnny, Johnny—more, more. Johnny pulled at him with his arms and legs as though he couldn’t bring them close enough. His fingers dug into Peter’s shoulders and clawed down his back in hard rakes. His mouth pressed and opened under Peter’s as though to draw him in, and Peter followed, kissing him and kissing him, knowing he could never kiss him enough.

“I want you,” Johnny breathed, nosing Peter’s ear. “Please, Peter, please.”

The sound of Johnny begging sent a surprising thrill through Peter and he was tempted to just tear Johnny’s tux right off his body and take him in that crowded closet on the second floor of the Avenger’s mansion. But then he remembered the red and blue costume hidden beneath his clothes and stopped. What was he doing?

He let Johnny’s legs fall to the ground and stepped back, fists shaking and clenched by his sides. Johnny held on to Peter’s sleeves, not wanting to let him go.

“We can’t,” Peter ground out through his teeth.

“Why?” was Johnny’s immediate response. When Peter didn’t say anything Johnny let go of his sleeves. “This isn’t just about sex, is it? I know you still want me, so what is it? What’s so god damned difficult that you’re not telling me?”

Despite his hair, tousled from Peter’s fingers, his swollen lips, and his tuxedo, pulled and tugged out of its previous perfect state, Johnny looked strong and steady. He stood up from the corner and he looked at Peter defiantly, blue eyes blazing in the darkness.

Peter found his tongue was drier than a lump of coal. “I can’t…” he trailed off, words feeling useless.

Johnny barked a harsh laugh. “Can’t tell me? Can’t tell me this thing that’s been bugging you for months—don’t try to deny it. You might think I’m an idiot but I can tell when something’s bothering you.” His fists rose to his hips and he tore his eyes away from Peter, staring at the floor in agitation. “You know, this is really unfair, Pete. I tell you everything; always have. And this is what I get for it? I mean, Jesus, what did I ever do to make you not trust me this much?”

“It’s not about trust,” Peter said, feeling everything beginning to crumble in his hands. “I’d trust you with my life.”

“It doesn’t feel like it!” Johnny whipped back around to face him. He was a whir of hot energy, calling for Peter to get burned. “It feels like you’re keeping something from me ‘cause you think I can’t handle it.”

“It’s…complicated.” Peter’s shoulder’s sagged, knowing he couldn’t begin to explain everything to Johnny with the right words.

Shutters fell over Johnny’s eyes and he straightened up, pulling his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulder. “Yeah? Well maybe you should figure it out by yourself, since you clearly don’t want me here.” He bumped his shoulder against Peter’s as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Peter stared at the door for a while before viciously pulling off the stupid tie, that had been strangling him all night, and throwing it to the floor. He ripped at his collar, popping half the buttons of his shirt, and slumped against the wall. He stared down at the spider insignia on his chest as it rose and fell with his breathing. He didn’t know what he felt for that spider. A little love, a little pride, but a whole lot of loathing all the same.

He was just about to push himself up to his feet when he heard a little gasp and his head snapped up to see Sue standing a few feet away from him. She was holding one of the many napkins lining the shelves over a large red stain across the front of her dress. She stood frozen, her eyes bugging out of her head as she stared at Peter’s chest.

“You’re Spider-Man,” she whispered.

Peter pointed an accusatory finger at her; trying and failing to pull the shirt back over his chest. “Pervert! Voyeur!”

“Shut up,” she hissed, though a little red did dust her cheeks. “I was here first! You two just barrelled in and I couldn’t get out, so I just disappeared—and anyway, I’m not the one who should be answering questions. You’re Spider-Man!”

Peter looked down at his exposed chest, saw there was no way of denying it, and simply said, “You can’t tell Johnny.”

“He doesn’t know?” she nearly yelled and Peter had to shush her. “That’s what you were arguing about? Peter, what the hell?”

“I know, I know,” he said, his head spinning. “It’s all very shocking-“

“I mean, not really,” Sue cut in. “Now that I think about it, it all kind of makes sense. I only thought you were having ‘my-boyfriend’s-a-celebrity’ issues but to think this whole time…” she trailed off, shaking her head as though one of life’s great mysteries had just become even more mysterious.

“Don’t tell Johnny,” was all Peter could think to say.

Sue’s eyes, that same icy Storm blue as Johnny’s, snapped to his. “I can’t believe you, Peter. How could you keep something like this from him? From us? Don’t you think we could’ve helped you?”

“I wanted to tell you guys,” he said, his hands shaking imploringly in front of him. “From the very start. But it’s…complicated.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said coldly and Peter winced. “I don’t know what reasoning you’ve used to bring yourself here, but it’s seriously flawed, and if you don’t tell him, I will.”

“Sue, come on-“

“No.” She sliced a hand through the air as if to signal that was all she would hear on the topic. “I’m not going to lie to him, and frankly, I’m surprised that you would.” She paused. “Have.”

“You think I like it this way?” Peter snapped. His nerves were fried and his eyeballs felt baked in his head. Also his brain was throbbing. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me.”

“You’re right,” she said flatly. “I don’t have any idea. Because you haven’t told me anything.” She threw her used tissue to the side and ripped the door open. She looked over her shoulder at him and said, “figure it out, Peter,” before letting the door close behind her with a firm click.

Peter stepped onto the terrace, the cool night air blasting him in the face, only to see he wasn’t alone. A man with light ginger hair, dressed in a smart, black suit leaned against the railing, his back to Peter. Peter almost huffed in annoyance. He’d come out here looking for a little solace and solitude only to find the place already occupied by the Brood Club.

He turned to leave when a voice called to him, “don’t leave on my account.”

Peter swung back around to see the man facing him. Two perfect disks of red covered his eyes and Peter finally noticed the cane propped up against the railing next to him.

“Uh,” Peter said, gaze flickering from the cane to the man’s glasses. “It’s cool. I can go somewhere else if you want to be alone.”

“It’s not that,” he said as Peter approached. “Just a little noisy downstairs.” He held out his hand and Peter clasped it. “Matthew Murdock.”

“Peter Parker,” he replied, shaking. “’S’cuse me if I’m wrong but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the infamous The Suit before.”

Murdock smiled wryly as they broke apart. “Not bad. Some other guy tried ‘Blind Man’s Bluff’ earlier.”

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s just bad.”

Murdock chuckled. “To be fair, blind humour is a very hard niche to get right. But anyway, no, I’m not here as part of the costume gallery. I’m a friend of Luke Cage’s.”

“I probably shouldn’t have to say since, apparently, everyone already seems to know, but in case you don’t have cable news, I’m dating the Torch.”

“I do, in fact, have cable news,” he said, grinning slightly. “Sorry about your house.”

Peter shrugged. “Not a big deal. Just the destruction of everything I own.”

They both laughed at that: Murdock with merriment, Peter, trying not to cry.

Just as the laugh wheezed from his throat a siren blared in his head. Every hair on his body stood on end as his brain screamed at itself and he was already moving. His hands acted of their own accord, reaching for Murdock to pull him down from whatever danger was hurtling towards them. But his hands closed on thin air.

Murdock was a blur; spinning, grabbing up his cane and throwing it like a javelin. It flew through the air and pierced something above them with a loud crack! A second later the head of Doctor Doom fell from the sky and landed with a clatter at Peter’s feet.

A moan fled Peter and he scuttled back a few steps. “What the-?”

“It’s a robot,” Murdock said briskly. “But where’s the-?”

With a screech of metal the headless body of the Doombot burst through the ground beneath them in an explosion of dust and rubble. It reached for them with huge paws of steel, ready to crush their windpipes or bash their heads in. Peter was faster, however, and punched his fist clean through the robot’s chest. Hisses and sparks crackled from exposed wires and when Peter pulled his arm out the decapitated Doom collapsed.

Peter stared down at his sleeve, now torn to ribbons, and winced. Johnny was going to kill him.

He glanced up at Murdock, who stood facing him, fists still clenched by his sides. They stared at each other in silence, the only sound the little sizzles and creaks coming from the robotic corpse between them.

“You’re not just Luke Cage’s party-going buddy,” Peter said.

“And you’re not just Johnny Storm’s arm candy,” Murdock replied, wiping at his nose with a sharp swipe. He crossed his arms then let his hands fall to his hips as he tapped his foot in agitation.

Peter threw up his arms. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Murdock stopped. He turned slowly, deliberately and Peter had to resist the urge to fidget under that blank stare.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he said.

Peter froze. He stared at those smooth, red circles, mind moving like an out of control revolving door. In an instant he thought of other heroes he’d met, the people that were downstairs and the ones that weren’t. He thought of Murdock’s acrobatic spin and the way he’d handled his cane like a comfortable weapon. All the while his reflection from Murdock’s scarlet glasses stared back at him.

“And you’re Daredevil,” he said back.

“What?” Murdock burst out. “That’s ridiculous! I-“

“Cool it, Red,” Peter said, choosing to ignore the internal flailing of his nerves at having his biggest secret found out. He focused on acting. He ripped off his jacket and dug out his mask from an inside pocket. “I’ll wash your secretive back is you wash mine. Or something.”

Murdock stood frozen as Peter pulled his mask on and tore off the rest of his suit. The blaring hadn’t quieted in Peter’s head so the chance that a lonely Doombot had randomly stumbled over the largest superhero gathering since Reed and Sue’s wedding was dashed. Already he could hear—could practically feel—the humming approach of other Doombots. He glanced over at Murdock again to see him quivering all over, fists clenching then relaxing by his sides. He wondered if the other man intended to strangle him when Murdock’s shoulders dropped and he sighed.

“You’d better be better at keeping my secret than you are at keeping yours,” he grunted, stripping off his jacket.

“How’d you know anyway?” Peter asked, spying another horde of bots and shooting a webline at one. He swung, taking out one and clipping the boot of another. “Are you psychic or something? Is that how it works?”

Daredevil now raced alongside him, all decked in red. Peter had refrained from asking him where he’d stashed his horned mask.

“I’m not psychic,” he replied, leaping from balcony to balcony, swinging his billy club and decapitating Doombots as he went. “I recognised your voice.”

Peter swung onto the back of a bot, cutting off its speech on Doom superiority, and ripped its arm off. “I thought I masked it pretty well. You’re the first to notice anything.” He clubbed the bot to death with its own arm, which was, admittedly, pretty savage.

Murdock ducked the falling debris and shrugged. “I’ve got a good ear.”

By then whatever security the mansion had left (“They must’ve cut it off from the inside somehow. No way would Stark under-staff robot bouncers tonight”) had finally kicked in and sirens were wailing through the mansion. The sound of lively festivities had been replaced with the familiar grunts, cries, and booming explosions of fighting.

As they broke through a window into a throng of X-Men and Doctor Dooms duking it out, Peter’s mind was racing.

Johnnydoomrobotsjohnnysecurityjohnnystarkfindwherejohnnystark

“We’ve gotta find Stark!” Murdock yelled, seemingly reading Peter’s jumbled thoughts, and adding to the whole psychic suspicion. “If he can put the security back online-“

“I know!” Peter yelled back, swinging over Wolverine, who was shredding robots apart like stalks of wheat.

He kicked a bot out of the air and braced to land on it when a bolt of lightning beat him to it. It exploded in a crackle of metal shards and a moment later Storm flew past, sparks of electricity arching off her skin. She glanced at Peter once, shot another robot over his shoulder, and flew on.

Peter turned, about to take off in what he thought was the direction to the grand floor, when Sue appeared from behind a corner.

“Sue!” he called to her. She looked up at his voice, saw him swinging towards her, and ran to him, her hair and pretty dress streaming out behind her.

Peter landed lightly at her feet and sprang up. Her grabbed her bare shoulders and had to refrain from shaking her.

“Where’s Johnny?” he said, breathless. “Is he still downstairs? I-“

“I don’t know,” Sue replied, her big, blue eyes wide and beseeching. She pressed her hands to his chest and clawed at the spandex there. “I can’t find him. Oh, Spider-Man I’m so worried.” A tear slid from her left eye, down her cheek.

Peter sucked in a breath, ready to blurt out some plan of attack, but paused before a single syllable made it out. Sue had called him Spider-Man. Why would she do that?

Um, we’re in public? She’s protecting your identity, duh.

In the middle of a battle zone?

Peter stared at her, shaking in his arms. He glanced down then back to her frightened eyes.

“You got the stain out of your dress,” he said.

Her eyes went blank for a moment, then she looked down to see the clear, stainless front of her white gown. Her gaze snapped back to the whites of his mask.
Her lips parted. “I-“

Peter’s brain screamed. He instantly leapt back, throwing all his weight into moving away, but a moment later his back slammed into something. He heaved a dry cough, the breath knocking out of him in a gale. He slid to the ground and looked over his shoulder but there was nothing there, just clear space. He whipped back around to see Sue advancing on him, her hand held out in front of her and a vicious snarl curling her lip.

Peter went to jump to his feet but a second later that invisible force was pressing down on him like a ton of bricks, pinning him to the ground.

“Stay down, insect,” the Thing-That-Wasn’t-Sue growled.

“Now I know you’re not Sue,” Peter wheezed, his ribs screaming that this was a little too snug for them. “She’s definitely smart enough to know spiders aren’t insects.”

The body snatcher stood over him, her fist slowly tightening the vice around Peter. “Die, you pest,” she hissed.

Peter could see her fingers about to squeeze in, when-

CLONK!

A club flew into her forehead end first, like an arrow. She instantly crumpled to the ground and the vice released Peter. He sucked in a lungful of air and a moment later Daredevil appeared at his side.

Murdock stooped down to pick up his billy club and they both stared down at the thing on the floor. Gone were Sue’s blonde hair, fair skin, and the stainless, white gown. Instead elongated ears, a huge, wrinkled chin, and mottled, green flesh lay in a black uniform.

Peter stared at the scene for a few seconds, while the battle raged on around them, speechless.

“Skrull,” Murdock whispered beside him and Peter groaned.

“Great!” he yelled. “Doom and Skrulls. This night just gets better and better.”

Daredevil began running down the hall and Peter had no choice but to follow.

“This just means we have to find Stark faster,” Murdock said as they fought through the skirmish to the main stairwell. “The longer this goes on, the higher the chances of an undetectable Skrull infiltration!”

“Agreed,” Peter said. But as they raced for the stairs all Peter’s mind could think of was-

Johnny.

Johnny walked briskly from the broom closet, tucking in his shirt and smoothing down his hair as best he could. He blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Stupid Peter and his stupid, confusing antics. The tabloids said Johnny ran hot and cold but if only the world could see the romantic escapades of Peter’s love life, they’d have enough material to write a year’s worth of columns. He tried to ignore the hurt in his chest and instead latched onto that sizzling anger. What was his deal, anyway? For once, Johnny was pretty sure he’d done everything right and, somehow, it was still all blowing up in his face.

As he began descending the stairs back to the grand floor he remembered that this wasn’t just a party for booze and dancing.

“Networking,” Sue had reminded him as he’d fixed the clasp of her necklace.

He couldn’t run out there like some sniffling little kid in front of respected colleagues.

So he straightened his tie, plastered on his most pleasant smile and walked back into the fray.

Johnny was chatting amiably with Bobby Drake when a green arm was flung around his shoulders. He was yanked back into a solid body and then Jen’s grinning face was next to his.

“Hey, Torch, old buddy. Sorry to interrupt but I need you for a minute,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze that was just a little too firm.

Johnny rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.

“Sorry, Bobby. Won’t be a minute.”

Bobby held up his hands in surrender. “It’s okay. I know who’s your favourite.”

“Never you,” Johnny said with a wink and they both laughed a little.

He waved to Bobby as Jen pulled him away and down one of the many long corridors snaking their way from the main entrance.

“So,” Johnny said once the sounds of the party had dimmed to background noise, “what’s up, Shulkie?”

Jen shrugged, her easy grin now gone, replaced with an intense stare she directed at Johnny. “Nothing really. That whole scene is such a bore. I’m more interested in what’s going on right here.”

She grabbed him and suddenly Johnny was being pushed through a door and crowded against the wall. Jen kicked the door shut behind them, fisted her hands in Johnny’s lapels and lifted him cleanly off the floor. She slammed his back against the wall and ducked her head down until their foreheads were almost touching.
“Hello, Johnny Storm,” she purred, her gaze dark and hungry.

Johnny knew if he could sweat he would be in that moment. He couldn’t see past her forest of hair to the door, and her dress was slipping further and further over her breasts and god, why was this happening?

“Um, Jen,” he began, his voice quivering. “I’m, uh, really flattered and everything because you’re, like, so gorgeous and everything, but, uh, this is really weird. And Wyatt’s my friend, and you-“

“Shhh,” she whispered, one hand snaking up to cup the back of his neck. “Don’t speak.”

Johnny considered just flaming on and making a break for it but he didn’t want to hurt Jen. Maybe she’d just had too much to drink and—why was her hand closing around his throat?

“Jen,” he croaked, clawing at her hand.

But her sultry smile turned down at the corners until she was snarling. Her hand kept squeezing and Johnny felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. He raked in a breath through the pinhole of space that was left in his esophagus. His skin began to simmer when a hand burst through the door.

He gaped at the newly made hole and the searching, green hand reaching through. It grabbed a fistful of Jen’s hair and pulled her back so hard she fell through the door in a shower of splinters.

Johnny gulped down air as he fell to the floor, his legs too wobbly to hold him up. He rubbed at his aching throat and looked up to see Jen standing above—Jen.
The Jen on her feet was a true hulking mess. Her hair looked as if a giant condor had tried to nest in it. Her torn cocktail dress was barely holding together. She stared down at the other Jen, her eyes glowing with green fury and her muscles rippling up and down her arms and legs.

The other Jen rolled onto her knees but Johnny’s Jen picked her up by the neck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, huh?” she roared as the captive squirmed in her grasp. “Now take off my body. There’s only one She-Hulk, sister, and that she is me. You got that?”

She punched the other her once across the face and the façade melted away in seconds. The impostor was still green but had shrunk considerably. Where once there had been a black cocktail dress, a military-esque uniform now decorated the writhing alien in Jen’s grip.

“Unhand me!” the Skrull shrieked.

Jen just smiled grimly. “In a sec,” she said and backhanded the Skrull, then punched her once again. Dark blood sprayed from her nose as Jen pulled her fist away. She released her hold and let the Skrull fall to the ground in an unconscious heap.

She rounded on Johnny and helped him to his feet. His legs trembled and she cupped his cheek.

“You okay, Hot Shot?” she asked, running a gentle thumb across his skin.

He placed his hand over hers and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, staring down at the Skrull sprawled at their feet. “I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“Ugh,” Jen huffed, drawing her hand away and putting it on her hip. “A gal can’t go to the little girls room these days without being jumped by an alien. She was probably drawing you out here to take you out and replace you with your own little impostor. There’re probably hundreds of the creeps crawling around here right now.”

Johnny tried to swallow but his throat wouldn’t co-operate. His skin was tingling with nerves just looking at the thing before them.

“Jennifer,” he said suddenly, rounding on her.

“Jonathan,” she replied, blinking in surprise.

“What’s your favourite movie?” he asked.

“Pretty Woman,” she replied without missing a beat. “Yours?”

He rolled his shoulders. “It’s a toss-up but Titanic is a classic.”

Jen started down the corridor and Johnny quickly followed. The closer they got the louder the sounds of the party became. They were just about to step back onto the grand floor when someone screamed. A second later the searing sound of lasers could be heard.

“Tremble before the power of Doom,” a tinny voice said, followed by a grunt and what Johnny assumed was an explosion.

They stepped onto the floor just in time to see all hell break loose. Doombots were flying through blasted holes in the walls and firing down on the gathered supers below.

Johnny blindly reached out and grabbed Jen’s arm. She glanced down at him and he stared back at her with dawning horror.

“Peter,” he whispered.

Johnny flew through the mansion like a raging inferno. All around him was mayhem as Doombots, and Avengers, and X-Men, and other unaffiliated heroes battled. Curtains were blazing, windows were shattered, the smell of singed wallpaper and carpet hung in the air, and everywhere he flew was the sound of yelling and lasers. He ducked around a corner—and dropped to the ground, narrowly missing decapitation via a severed Doom faceplate flying through the air like an evil discus. Luke Cage barrelled after it, tossing the rest of the sparking carcass over his shoulder. He staggered a bit as he ran, no doubt still feeling the effects of his drinking contest with Ben.

“Luke!” Johnny called to him. “Have you seen Peter?”

“Nope,” Luke slurred, glaring at a Doombot as it fired a laser at his chest, only achieving in burning a hole through his dress shirt. Johnny shot it down. “Saw Doom though. Think he was lookin’ for you guys.”

Johnny was already flying on, scanning the ground for any sign of Peter.

God, why had he left him alone? He kept picturing Peter huddled up in that second-story broom closet, confused and afraid. Or more likely, he was running around somewhere trying to get a good picture for the damn Bugle. He didn’t think Skrulls or Doom would make very agreeable models and put on a burst of speed.

As he wove through the seemingly endless corridors he saw a few odd scenes playing out around him: Captain Marvel driving her stiletto through the eye of a Doombot, Miss America holding another America Chavez in a headlock, Colossus throwing Iron Fist like a javelin through a line of robots. He ducked under a Skrull, who appeared to have gotten confused and had morphed their top half into Jean Grey and their bottom half into Karnak. The Skrull was easily swatted away by Scarlet Witch, who took no heed of Johnny as she dispatched of more Skrulls as though they were pesky flies.

Johnny was flying past a women’s bathroom when a look crack sounded from inside. He ducked through to see Daredevil in the middle of a brawl with five Doombots. The only blood Johnny could make out on him was trickling from the corners of his mouth, though he suspected more hidden amongst that scarlet costume. Daredevil was spinning, and kicking, and clubbing for all he was worth but the bots didn’t seem bothered by this. He would strike his billy club through one of their shoulders and the robot would still insist that he kneel before the power of Doom.

Johnny concentrated his flames to his hands and aimed for the robots’ necks.

“Daredevil,” Johnny called, melting the face off a Doombot over the other’s shoulder. “Didn’t know you were on the guest list.”

Daredevil aimed those glassy, red eyes at him. Holding one robot in a scissor hold he asked, “Which Dominos did I help stop you from burning down?”

“Trick question,” Johnny replied, ducking under the arm Daredevil ripped off. “It was a Burger King. And that wasn’t my fault. They really need to stop putting so much grease into their food.” He sliced one Doombot in half at the waist, filling the bathroom with the choking smell of melted metal and wires. “Have you seen Peter?”

“Yeah,” Daredevil grunted, knocking his club under a bot’s chin, almost severing its head. “He’s looking for you.”

Despite his flames, Johnny’s spine ran cold. “What?”

Even with the mask Johnny could see Daredevil’s frown, down to those apathetic eyes. “He seemed to think finding you was more important than restoring security.” He said this as a Doombot knocked him against the mirror with enough force to crack it. He responded by kicking it into a stall.

“Why would he do that?” Johnny said, trying not to scream. He was aware of his flames catching onto the wallpaper and guessed that Daredevil was probably sweating quite a bit but at that moment he couldn’t help it. “He should be hiding!”

Daredevil seemed genuinely puzzled at this. “Why would he be hiding? He’s fighting.” He said it as though fighting were the most natural thing in the world for Peter to be doing in the middle of a robot/alien attack.

Before Johnny could respond, a hard rattle shook above them. They glanced up just in time to see Tony Stark fall through the ceiling. He crushed one robot underneath him and chunks of plaster rained down around the others, knocking them with little effect. Haphazard pieces of armour covered about half of Tony’s body; the rest was still decorated with his now-torn tuxedo. His keen, dark eyes snapped open and a second later he rose his gauntlet but Johnny moved faster.

He shoved Daredevil, while also yelling, “Down!”

Daredevil, thankfully, obliged and dropped to the ground beside Tony. Johnny spread his arms out like an airplane, reminding him of his earliest flights over the city in his teenage years, and blasted white-hot fire from his fingertips. With one spin he sliced every Doombot in half—and set the remaining wallpaper on fire.

“Sorry,” Johnny said, helping Tony to his feet. “Seemed like the easiest way.”

White dust powdered Tony and he coughed out little clouds as he tried to brush himself off. “Don’t worry, you’re pretty far down on my least-favourite guests right now. Spider-Man just spiked me through the floor.”

Johnny straightened at the mention of the wall-crawler, who, up until that point, had been noticeably absent. Now he was pegging Iron Man through floors. Johnny flew up through the hole Tony had so generously created, catching a few words from Daredevil about getting Tony somewhere, or whatever.

Johnny emerged from the hole and saw the room in shambles. He was in someone’s bedroom and it had been pretty thoroughly destroyed. The silk canopy over-hanging the bed was cracked through the middle and bent together, the furniture was either in pieces or over-turned, and the walls were covered with human-sized dents and holes that looked as though they’d been made with fists. Johnny noticed Hawkeye, passed out on the bed and in the shadows next to him, arms spread out protectively, was Spider-Man.

Johnny’s breath hitched at just the sight of him and he had to wonder why he was so glad to see the guy who had apparently just slammed Tony through a story.
“Spider-Man!” Johnny shouted, bursting from the hole.

Spidey’s head jerked to him. “Johnny!” His voice held an odd, desperate relief. Then it all vanished as he waved his arms in fast, jerky movements. “Get out of here! Get-“

A bright shape leaping at him from amongst the collapsed silk and tackling him to the ground cut him off. They rolled a few times before sliding to a stop in front of Johnny. When he saw the two of them he groaned: circling each other in the same wall-crawling stance were two identical Spider-Men.

“Johnny,” one hissed, blank gaze staying trained on the other. “It’s me.”

“Shut up,” the other snapped. “Johnny, don’t listen to it.”

The first Spidey scoffed. “Even Flame Brain here isn’t dumb enough to fall for your D-list disguise.”

“Oh, really? What’d you make your web fluid out of? C’mon, tell the class.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you don’t know, you phoney.”

“Enough!” Johnny barked and both of them pivoted to look at him. He pointed his flaming hands at each of them, index fingers poised over their noses. “Spidey,” his gaze bounced back and forth between them. “Help me out here. What’s your favourite movie?”

Both appeared puzzled by this.

“Really? My favourite movie?”

“Who even goes to the movies anymore?”

Johnny groaned again, feeling the aggravation rise in him. “What were we doing when we last saw each other?”

“Taking down the Wizard,” one said.

“Saving a pot,” the other added.

Damn it. Johnny really hated it when Skrulls did their homework.

“I-“ he stared at one, then the other, eyes jumping between them like a frightened deer. He licked his cracked lips and tried to swallow but couldn’t. “I- I don’t know. Spidey, I don’t-“

The Spider-Man to his left suddenly let out an exasperated groan. He rose from his fighting squat and ran his hands over where his hair would be under the mask.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “This whole situation is so goddamn ridiculous.”

“I’ll say!” the other Spidey said, springing to his feet. “You’d have to be a moron not to see that I’m the real deal.” He gestured to himself as though his abs alone should have accounted for his identity.

Left-Spider-Man lifted his head from his hands and Johnny could see the glower through the mask.

“Shut up,” he said, voice dripping with contempt. “Just shut up.”

“Um,” Johnny began, unsure of what to do with his flaming hands now. “This is still being really unhelpful to me.”

“Johnny,” Left-Spider-Man said and his voice changed. When he said his name it was soft, like he was cradling the word.

It was that sincerity that made Johnny’s eyes expand. That quiet reverence that he’d heard whispered in his ear so many times before. His mouth fell open—to speak or gape, he wasn’t sure—when the Spider-Man reached up and pulled off his mask.

Peter’s big, brown eyes stared back at him.

For the span of about three seconds, time held no meaning. Peter looked at Johnny and saw Johnny looking back at him. Shock, disbelief, denial, amazement—these emotions all flashed across Johnny’s face, shuttering one after the other like a piece of film. Peter’s mind also had enough time to scream-

ohgodwhathaveIdonehehatesmeohgodthiswasatrribleideaskrull

The Skrull that had decided to fore-go originality and steal his image also seemed at a loss of what to do from this recent development. Peter took that moment of confusion and pounced.

He grabbed the Skrull by the scruff of the neck, spun him around once, and then let go, launching him through—and out—the window. Peter lost the sound of the Skrull’s screams after about the second story.

He slowly turned back to Johnny, who was still gawking at him in stunned silence.

Peter cleared his throat. “Well…” he toyed with the hem of his mask. “…One of us had to change.”

That seemed to snap Johnny out of his reverie. His blue eyes went from the size of golf balls to two narrow slits.

“What,” he began, voice trembling with what Peter hoped was a positive emotion, “is going on?”

“Um,” Peter replied eloquently. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“This isn’t some kind of joke? This whole attack isn’t part of some elaborate prank? Because if it is, bravo. You have succeeded in getting me.”

“Johnny.”

“This is a prank?”

“Johnny.”

“Stop that!” he burst out, staggering back a step. “Stop saying that! Explain this, Peter!”

Peter sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Johnny crossed his arms, looking incredibly like Sue in that moment. “I’ve got time.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the whole mansion rattle. Peter instinctively glued his feet to the ground but Johnny wobbled as the mansion settled again.

Peter pulled his mask back on. “I don’t think you do.”

If Peter thought he’d be able to loose Johnny in the crowd, he was wrong. The mansion had evolved from a skirmish ground, to a full-blown warzone. It seemed every corner they turned they were met with another tangle of human/mutant/alien/robot brawling. Peter had a feeling that whatever needed doing, it was on the roof. If he were a raving super villain, he’d go for the drama of the roof too. No matter how fast he swerved through the crowds though, Johnny kept up with him easily.

“How is this possible?” Johnny raved beside him as they headed for the main stairwell. “How did this happen? How-?”

“I got bitten by a weird spider and it gave me powers,” Peter said in a rush. He was attempting to shoot at who he thought were Skrulls as they raced by. He thought his Skrull to not-Skrull guess ratio was working out fifty/fifty.

“How could you do this to me?” Johnny shouted, his fire blazing hotter than ever. “Do you have any idea how stupid I feel right now? God, all that stuff I said to you—I told you to stay away from you!”

“I know,” Peter said. He landed a wad of webbing right in a thing that looked like Wolverine’s eye. From the string of curses that followed he adjusted his ratio to forty-nine/fifty-one. “It was weird for everyone.”

“Shut up!” Johnny yelled again. It was impossible to see any trace of sympathy in those glowing, orange eyes. “I can’t believe you. You’ve been lying to me this whole time, you absolute-“

“It wasn’t a field of daisies for me either, y’know,” Peter snapped back. “In fact it was the pits. I wanted to tell you-“

“But someone physically stopped you every time you wanted to broach the subject?” Johnny cut in snidely.

“Ugh!” Peter’s exasperation was beginning to really boil, and the current atmosphere wasn’t exactly helping. “Do we really have to talk about this right now? We’re kind of in the middle of a crisis.”

A vein Peter had never seen popped on Johnny’s forehead. “You are not weaseling your way out of this one Peter Parker.”

Peter whistled. He swooped down just in time to dodge a particularly unfriendly laser. “Ooh, busting out the full names are we, Jonathan Storm? I’m really in the dog house now.”

“Stop flirting with me!” Johnny screamed. “I hate you!”

Peter’s Spider Sense blared in his head but drew him, not away from any danger coming at him, but to Johnny. He swerved to the side and kicked Johnny in the hip, tipping both of them over a few feet. Over their heads a sai sword whistled by and dug itself halfway to its hilt in the wall like a deadly, three-pronged dart. Johnny didn’t seem to be appreciative about the save.

He rubbed at his hip and glared at Peter. “You kicked me!”

Peter let out a huff of frustration. “I saved you from getting a stylish new piercing through your neck, so you’re welcome.”

He shot a webline for a pair of double doors, identical to the ones he’d stepped through to meet Matt Murdock about twenty minutes ago. He braced his leg and kicked the doors open, swinging into the brisk chill outside. Johnny, flying next to him, kept him warm. Even in these trying times.

Peter latched onto the outer wall and began to scale the building. Johnny floated beside him, arms crossed over his chest. Peter had always hated Storm chidings, but this one was particularly shit.

“Well?” Johnny asked. “I’m still waiting.”

Peter glared through a window, where Captain America was beating a Doombot with a colander. “For what?”

Johnny’s reflection rolled his eyes. “You still haven’t apologised!”

“Look,” Peter sighed, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay?”

“Not okay. Peter, what the hell are you even doing?”

“Stuff!” He wanted to throw his hands up in the air, but as they were currently keeping him secured to a spot high enough to shatter his atoms, he resisted. “Things! Helping people. Y’know, hero stuff?”

He quickened his scamper up the building but Johnny simply floated a little faster and kept pace with him.

“But why?” Johnny asked. He didn’t even sound as angry now, just confused. “Peter, you’re tough but you were never a fighter, fighter.”

“Well, I am now!” Peter dug his fingers a little too hard into the wall and the brick cracked under the pressure. Johnny stared. “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I first started this—trying to impress you, trying to prove myself—but I realised none of that matters. That spider could’ve bit anyone but it bit me. Now I’m the one with a built-in car alarm, I’m the one who can climb things, and I’m the one who can punch through this damn wall if I wanted to.” He held up his fist as though he intended to do just that. He rounded on Johnny, who was staring intently at his trembling fist. “Me, Johnny. I can fight, so I will fight.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, simply continued up that wall, where, from the top, he was certain that sounds of fighting could be heard. He was crawling over the kitchen window—where it seemed a lone Skrull had decided they’d rather raid the fridge than fight Avengers—when a sharp cry sounded above them. Their heads snapped up to see a figure tossed from the roof, their arms and legs flailing about like strings of bubblegum.

“Reed!” Johnny yelled.

Peter thrust his arm out, shooting a web and catching Reed’s elbow. He mentally patted himself on the back before Reed began to swing back towards the side of the building…and didn’t slow down.

He shouted as he plummeted towards the wall, gangly limbs flopping about him uselessly. Peter held out his free hand helplessly but could only watch as Reed splattered against the wall like a fly and flattened into a blobby pancake.

“Um.” Peter glanced at Johnny, who was staring back at him incredulously. “…That worked better in my head.”

“You just squashed my brother-in-law!” Johnny exclaimed, looking very affronted.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter began to reel him in, pulling up the webline hand over hand. “I’ve got him.”

It didn’t take long for Peter to haul Reed up to them. Reed had a nasty bruise spreading across his forehead, but otherwise seemed relatively unscathed.

He leveled a deadpanned stare at Peter. “If any complications arise from being compressed against a brick wall, you’ll be receiving my neurologist bill.”

“Do I get a friends and family discount?” Peter asked.

“No.”

“Reed,” Johnny cut in, leveling a look at Peter. “Do you know about him?” He jabbed a thumb at Peter, who began to sweat.

Reed just blinked. “I don’t understand. I know he’s approximately twenty-one to twenty-seven years old, I know his strength is proportioned to that of a Funnel-Web spider, I know he has a sense of altruism—“

“Okay, so you don’t know,” Johnny said.

“What don’t I know?” Reed asked.

Johnny glanced a little coolly at Peter but his eyebrows smoothed and he sighed. “Nothing.”

Then it was Peter’s turn to sigh. “No, no,” he said with defeat, “if you and Sue already know it’s only a matter of time before the rest of you do too.”

“Sue knows?!” Johnny burst out, suddenly loosing all his recently acquainted cool and readopting his previous temper. “You told Sue but not me? I don’t even know what to do with you-“

“I didn’t tell her,” Peter interrupted Johnny’s tirade. “She found out.” He turned to Reed. “And this is what he means.” He pulled up his mask just enough for Reed to see his eyes.

Reed stared silently at him for a heartbeat.

“Well, I don’t know what I was expecting but that certainly wasn’t it.”

As they high-tailed it up the wall Reed quickly recounted how he’d ended up taking an involuntary dive off the roof. He, Ben, and Sue were fighting Doctor Doom—surprise, surprise—who had gotten himself a wicked, magical scepter, when Doom had blasted Reed off the roof with some invisible force of magic.

“He means to trap everyone inside the building and destroy it,” Reed explained.

“But what about the Skrulls?” Peter asked.

“They’ve banded with Victor over their shared hatred of all of us. With no defenders of the world, they’d be free to wreak whatever havoc they desire.”
“No, I mean, they’re the ones fighting along with the Doombots. Won’t they be trapped inside too?”

Reed scoffed. “You think that would bother Victor?” He laughed bitterly. “No. Not him.”

They finally crested the wall to see Ben trapped in the middle of what looked to be a battle of wills between Sue and Doom. Ben struggled in an invisible grip. Sue stood to one side of the roof, her open hands held out in front of her, shaking and sweating from exertion. Doom stood opposite her, a twisted, silver rod grasped in both hands and pointed at Ben. His cape blew back in the wind, adding the perfect amount of imposing to his visage. The only sign of visible strain came from the scrunched up eyes visible in the slits of his mask.

Peter had never personally met Doom but he’d heard enough horror stories from Johnny and the rest of the Four that he’d reconsidered his stance on capital punishment. And looking at what was playing out in front of him he knew his judgments hadn’t been misguided.

Johnny took one look at the seen, gasped, and flew at Doom.

“Let him go!” he yelled, hurling a storm of fireballs down on the villain.

Doom’s attention snapped to Johnny. He wrenched the staff away from Ben, who immediately collapsed to the ground in rattling coughs, and swept it up in a waving motion. The fire hit an invisible barrier and dissipated into smoke.

“Well…” Doom’s voice was low and rattling, as though he’d swallowed a handful of rusty bolts. “The runt finally decides to show his face. A pity. I’d hoped to crush you with the rest of the ants.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Let’s skip over the ‘puny mortals, you are beneath me, evil laughter’ bit, okay?”

Doom grunted disapprovingly, as though the youths of today couldn’t understand his monologue-ing brilliance. “Very well.” He levelled the scepter at Johnny. “Let’s skip straight to your death.”

Peter sensed the white-hot beam before he saw it. He leapt over the lip of the roof, shot a webline at the head of the scepter and yanked just as a ray of blinding silver shot from the tip. Doom staggered and the beam glanced over Johnny’s shoulder, hissing under his earlobe. Sue had to duck to avoid the beam, flattening herself to the ground like a foot soldier.

Doom’s gaze followed the web and landed on Peter. Those steely eyes penetrated him like daggers but he stood his ground, not backing down. He tugged on the web a little again, forcing Doom to stagger forward. Doom made a disgusted sound and with a flick of his wrist the scepter flashed once and the webs crumbled to dust.

“I will not be interfered with!” he thundered. With a flourish of his cape he swung the scepter high above him, perhaps hoping that an opportune bolt of lightning would strike and complete the image of menace. “You will die up here or you will die inside with the rest of your pathetic kind. Either way it shall be by my hand!”

He slammed the butt of the scepter down and the whole ground reverberated with the force of an earthquake. The only thing that kept Peter standing was his spider grip; Reed, Ben, and Sue all toppled over, and Johnny, floating in the air, watched on in surprise. Just as the quakes began to subside tentacles of the same white-hot light burst from the ground. They snaked towards the figures on the floor, reaching hungrily at ankles and boots.

Johnny flew in front of them and glared challengingly at the tentacles.

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll just absorb the heat-“

“No, Johnny!” Reed cried out. He had one arm curled protectively over Sue, the other stretched out in front of Ben. He looked to Johnny desperately. “They’re not like fire. They’re composed of pure anti-matter. They’ll burn right through you!”

Johnny flinched back just as a tentacle swiped at him, missing his face by inches and fluttering the flames there. He swerved away from more persistent tentacles but Peter could see he couldn’t keep it up forever. Sue tried throwing a force field up around them but it only took a second of resistance before the groping vines broke through, puncturing the barrier like needles through a balloon.

Peter tried to sling another webline at the scepter and rip it from Doom’s grasp but all of his webs dissolved before they could find their mark.

More anti-matter tentacles exploded in bursts of rock from the ground far below them. Peter gawked at the massive feelers slithering towards Avengers Mansion, ready to dissolve the walls and destroy everyone inside. Matt, Jen, Alicia—not to mention the countless X-Men, Avengers and Inhumans would all die. He refused to let that happen.

“Johnny!” Peter yelled, flipping over a probing tentacle (ugh). “How enticing can you be to a horde of tentacles?”

Johnny zipped between antimatter faster than a hummingbird. “If you’re about to make some weird, perverted joke—don’t.”

“Just be distracting!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Never the less he began to duck down closer to the vines, pulling away at the last second. This appeared to get their attention; they lost interest in the others and began to pursue Johnny, trying to grab him out of the air.

“You love it,” Peter called, swinging past him, thinking it would be funny to smack him on the behind but deciding against it on account of Johnny being on fire.
Johnny only scowled at him in response.

Doom was raving about something to do with his superiority in third person but Peter had tuned him out. He landed on the force field Sue was using to fly herself, Ben, and Reed above the fray. Her movements weren’t as quick or precise as Johnny’s, but in her defence she was carrying passengers, one of whom was made up of rocks.

“Reed,” Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’s your swingin’ arm?”

“Still attached,” Reed replied, reeling his arm, which was currently twenty feet long, back in.

Peter nodded, eyes darting around at the team, then down at Doom and Johnny. He eyed the scepter in Doom’s hand and his mind raced, devising a hasty plan.

Johnny was beginning to panic. Not only were reaching appendages made of stuff that could vaporise right through his body chasing him to the world’s worst chorus in the form of Victor Von Doom, but also his flames were getting weaker. Just being near those blindingly white feelers was sapping him of his energy. Already he was starting to feel heavier and his movements were getting more and more sluggish with every turn. He gave himself about two more minutes before one of those things grabbed his ankle and relieved him of a foot.

He risked a glance over his shoulder to see what his beloved teammates and Peter were doing to solve the situation, when Reed’s arm went speeding past him like a striking snake. He ducked back and watched Reed navigate his arm from above the mass of writhing tentacles on Sue’s force field, through the groping feelers towards Doom.

Reed’s arm shot out and Doom, obviously expecting him to make a play at the scepter, turned to shield the staff with his body. But Reed didn’t grab at the scepter. His fingers curled in and he socked Doom right across the faceplate. It wasn’t the most jaw-cracking punch in the world but it was enough to tip Doom off balance.
That was when Sue struck. She threw out her hand and a force field instantly drew up between Doom’s fingers. At least, that’s what Johnny assumed happened from the way the scepter flew out of Doom’s hand.

“NO!” Doom bellowed, reaching up desperately to catch his precious scepter.

A webline beat him to it.

Peter leaped from the force field, gripping the web attached to the staff and swung it back to the hovering three.

Ben caught it in his hand. He made sure to catch Doom’s eye before smirking and crushing it in his fist with one easy squeeze.

Instantly, the tentacles vanished into whispers, floating away on the breeze. The mansion settled, no longer shaking from the giant appendages bursting around its foundations.

“Whoo!” Peter cheered, landing lightly a few feet from Johnny. “How ‘bout that one, folks? A real crowd-pleasing moment. One for the history books.”

Doom’s hands, empty of a magical scepter that could have killed the world’s most notable superheroes, shook. He let out a strangled cry of fury and rounded on the first person he saw, who in this case, happened to be Johnny.

“You insolent fools!” he howled. His eyes weren’t scrunched up but blown wide, taking up the whole space cut out for them in his mask. Johnny had always hated those vindictive eyes peering out from behind that metal armour. He took a halting step towards Johnny, who in turn automatically backed up a step as well. “You have interfered in the plans of Doom for the last time!” His hand shot out and Johnny only had a microsecond to realise a few things:

• Next to him Peter was shouting something.
• Just because they had stripped him of his scepter didn’t mean Doom was unarmed.
• He was probably about to die.

However, just as his eyes took in the coloured beam that was probably a laser, his whole world went sideways. He slammed against the ground with enough force to send bolts of pain shooting through his shoulder. It was so startling tears sprang to his eyes but he quickly blinked past them to look up. The high shriek of a laser tore through the air and he glanced up just in time to see a streak of red pierce straight through Peter’s chest and out his back. Blood burst from both points, stark red against the black sky. Peter was blown back with the force and he landed heavily on his back, doing nothing to break his fall.

Johnny was dimly aware of a high, reedy sound coming from somewhere (probably his throat) as he scrambled to Peter. He could hear the sounds of the others yelling, of Ben’s fists colliding with metal, but it was all drowned out to background noise over the pounding blood in his ears.

He cradled Peter’s slack head in his lap as his other hand hovered over the gaping hole in his torso. Johnny was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of the ground straight through Peter’s chest. Blood pooled quickly under and over his body, staining the fabric at Johnny’s knees.

“P-Peter,” he stammered, gazing down at the blank mask. He yanked the mask up to Peter’s nose and called his name again. “PETER!”

A low gurgle emanated from between Peter’s lips, as well as a rivulet of red saliva.

“…Present…” he croaked.

“Shut up!” Johnny couldn’t stop shaking now. “Don’t talk, you idiot. God, Peter what is wrong with you? Why did you do that?”

Peter’s lips slowly quirked up at the corners. “…Because I could. And…I wanted to…”

Tears began streaming down Johnny’s cheeks of their own accord. He wiped the blood and spit pooling around Peter’s mouth and a moment later Sue was beside him.

She gasped when she saw Peter and Johnny latched onto her arm.

“W-Whadda we do?” he asked her, every word taking the effort of a marathon. “He’s…” He trailed off and just stared at her, the same way he’d always done as a kid when things seemed impossible; looking up at Sue beseechingly, begging her to make it all better somehow.

Sue’s eyes were wide, darting around from Johnny’s gaze to Peter’s chest, to the blood all around them.

At last she loosed a breath and set her features with hard determination. “He’s lost too much blood,” she said in a steely calm voice. “We need to seal the wound.”

“With what?” Johnny wailed.

Sue glanced down at his hands, which were still flickering with embers. It took Johnny a moment to understand but once he did he stopped breathing.

He looked at Sue, wondering if he’d some how gotten it wrong, and said, “…Burn him?”

Sue grasped his shoulders firmly, not breaking his gaze for a second.

“Save him.”

Johnny looked from his own hand to Peter’s chest and swallowed dryly. His whole body went numb and he briefly wondered if he’d gone into shock when Sue dug her fingernails into his shoulders and he yelped.

“It has to be now, Johnny,” she said matter-of-factly. “Quickly.”

Johnny nodded shakily and lit his hand up. He looked down to Peter, and even though his eyes were covered he could feel Peter’s gaze staring up at him. Johnny held his hand over the wound.

He faced Peter, murmured, “sorry”, and pressed his blazing hand to Peter’s chest.

Peter accepted the juice box Johnny handed him with a nod of thanks. He tried to remove the straw stuck to the side with his teeth but Johnny just sighed and took it from him.

“We need to have a word about your difficulty with asking others for help,” he said, punching the straw through the box and giving it back to Peter.

“There’s no need for that,” Peter answered, pausing to take a sip. “I’m perfectly fine being dependent on other people.”

Johnny shook his head softly and grumbled, “sure, guy.”

He sat next to Peter on the front step, looking out at the aftermath. Stark had managed to get the security back up and running at the same moment Ben had crushed the scepter. All the remaining Doombots had been taken out with various weapons, which had popped up out of nowhere all over the mansion. The guest list had been triple checked and every pair of doubles was rounded up until all the Skrulls had been weeded out.

The Avengers were following whatever protocol was used in the event of these things, while Reed and Ben had taken Doom wherever it was you took power-crazed super villains, who were also monarchs, when they attempted mass murder. Sue was working with everyone else, talking to police and calling the appropriate government officials to explain the situation and assure them the public weren’t in danger. The other party-goers were mostly still at the mansion, either passed out inside or milling about on the grounds in a confused, drunken daze.

“I had the weirdest dream,” Hawkeye mumbled as Mockingbird and Black Widow held him up between them. “There were these two guys fighting on top of me-“

“Ugh,” Bobbi Morse sighed. “I’ve heard this dream before.”

The women lead him away.

As for Peter, according to Sue, who had taken a look inside his chest courtesy of a little invisibility, the laser couldn’t have gotten closer to his heart.

“It’s less than a quarter of an inch from the aorta,” she’d observed just as he was waking up.

He’d glanced down, seen the insides of his own chest and promptly passed out again.

Doctor Strange had then checked him out once he’d regained consciousness. He’d fed him some weird potion that tasted of apple flavouring, which was supposedly going to accelerate the rebuilding of his muscle tissue and ligaments. That, combined with his healing factor, meant that he should be in tip-top shape in about a week.

“No web-slinging until then,” Strange had said. “Doctor’s orders.”

All Peter could think when he said that was if he were ever to become a doctor, he’d tag that on the end of all of his orders.

Until he was healed, however, his left arm was going to be little more than a limp accessory. So now, at two in the morning, he sat with Johnny, one arm in a sling, the other holding a juice box.

Johnny’s tux, although made of unstable molecules and, thus, unsigned, was ripped and torn badly. He was missing a whole sleeve on one arm, his tie was gone, and his hair was a tousled mess. He looked as exhausted as Peter felt.

Eventually Johnny broke the still silence between them.

“Peter-“

“If you were going to break up with me before you should still do it,” Peter cut in. He glanced at Johnny, who blinked, stunned. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me just because I saved you, or whatever. So if you were going to, I understand.”

Johnny just shook his head. “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Technically, I did tell you.” Johnny gave him an unimpressed look and Peter continued, “I did plan on telling you straight away, originally. But then on that first night you were an ass and completely threw me for a loop. Then I started double-guessing everything, like, ‘Should I be doing this? Why am I doing this?’…But I just kept doing it. And the more I did it the less I doubted myself.” He faced Johnny now, wanting him to see what he meant. “Being powerless? It sucked. I’ve never felt worse than when I would watch you—and all these other guys-“ he gestured around at the milling superheroes “-put yourselves in danger and all I could do was watch. There have been so many time in my life where I’ve thought, ‘if I was only stronger, I could’ve stopped all this from happening. I could’ve protected people’. Ever since I got these powers I’ve felt more like myself than I ever have. It’s like this is who I was always supposed to be, you know? Like Spider-Man was always there, waiting for me.” He touched the spider insignia on his chest, partially burned away from the hole in his suit. He looked at Johnny. “Do you get what I mean?”

“Huh.” Johnny looked away from Peter to stare at his own hands, no doubt thinking of the fire lurking just beneath the skin. “That’s deep. Makes a guy wonder about his own relationship with the whole ‘hero status’.”

Peter reached out and grabbed Johnny’s hand. Johnny’s eyes caught his.

“You are a hero,” Peter said earnestly. He squeezed Johnny’s hand.

Johnny blushed and looked down at their entwined hands. He threaded his fingers through Peter’s.

“So are you,” he said. “And I’m not breaking up with you.”

Peter let out a heavy sigh. “That’s a relief. If you had it really would’ve soured this touching night we’ve had together.” He popped his peck, where Johnny’s hand had left a bright red handprint on his skin. Peter was pretty sure it, and the matching one on his back, would be there forever.

Johnny immediately drew his hand back. “And you ruined it.”

Peter grinned, wriggling closer to Johnny along the step. “C’mon. Are you saying this night hasn’t marked you?”

Peter propped his chin on Johnny’s shoulder and Johnny leaned his head away, groaning. “Please stop.”

“You’ve touched my heart.”

“No.”

“You’ve seen me for who I really am on the inside.”

“No.”

“I’ve gotta hand it to you-“

“NO.”

Laughter burst, unbidden, from Peter’s throat. He collapsed against Johnny, wheezing, unable to stop, and soon Johnny was following, laughter shaking his shoulders. He rested his head against Peter’s and they soon calmed down, lying against each other in a content silence.

They sat like that for a while until Johnny lifted his head and turned to look at Peter.

“Pete?”

Peter leaned back. “Yeah?”

Johnny began to fidget, rubbing his fingers together. He kept peeking down at his shoes, then back up at Peter. “I just wanted to say—I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while—and I would really like to say this to your face, not your mask, but that’s not important. I guess I just wanted to say I-“

“I love you.”

Johnny’s head snapped up. He stared at Peter, mouth falling open.

Peter smirked. “Sorry. Had to say it first.”

Johnny blinked. His eyebrows knitted together and he smacked Peter on his uninjured shoulder.

“You asshole!” he shouted, sounding more affronted than angry. “You just had to steal my thunder, didn’t you?” He continued to pelt Peter, with open-handed blows as Peter laughed and held up an arm to defend himself.

“Sorry, sorry! You can say it back though.”

“No way,” Johnny huffed, crossing his arms and turning away from him. “I changed my mind, I’m breaking up with you.”

Peter wrapped his good arm around Johnny’s waist and drew him close until Johnny was practically sitting in his lap. Peter buried his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck and kissed the soft skin there.

“You can’t,” he reasoned. “I love you.”

Johnny sighed and Peter pressed more and more kisses up his neck, to his ear, murmuring, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Okay, fine,” Johnny relented, turning to allow Peter to kiss him on the mouth (which he did), and said, “I love you too.”

Peter grinned. He stroked the back of Johnny’s head and Johnny closed his eyes, a relaxed smile playing on his lips. Peter lunged forward, yanking Johnny toward him and blowing a raspberry on his cheek.

“Ah!” Johnny squealed and shoved Peter’s face away. “Why do you have to ruin everything?” He rubbed at his cheek and Peter laughed, tugging his mask back over his mouth.

The door suddenly banged open behind them and they both jumped. Spinning around they saw Jen, wearing a bathrobe monogrammed with Tony’s initials over her torn up dress. She stared at them accusingly.

“Really Johnny? What would Peter say if he saw you?”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Peter chimed in, popping his good hand on his hip. “You dirty harlot, what about Peter?”

Johnny stared at him. He turned to Jen, who was tapping her foot expectantly.

“Peter’s dead to me,” he said.

Mary Jane watched silently as he packed his few meager possessions into a backpack Johnny had lent him. He was wearing one of her loose pajama shirts: a pink t-shirt with red sequins spelling out ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on his chest. His arm kept getting in the way and knocking things off the coffee table, still limp in its sling.

It was one in the afternoon, the day after the world’s worst gatecrashed party. He’d split from Johnny after Reed and Ben had come back, promising him he wouldn’t swing home. He’d taken the subway to MJ’s place, which had earned him a few odd looks in his Spidey suit from the other travellers on that three A.M train. Once he’d arrived at her apartment building, he’d stripped to his boxers, stuffed his costume in a potted plant and knocked on Mary Jane’s door at some ungodly hour. She’d opened it after a few minutes, wrapped up in a dressing gown, her hair in rollers. She’d blinked blearily but once she’d seen his lack of clothes and his arm in the sling she’d ushered him in. He had begun to tell some fake story about just how he’d ended up half-naked, with a busted up arm and two handprints seared into his skin, but she had held up a hand and cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” she’d said. “You can take the couch, I’ll deal with you in the morning.” Then she’d stalked off to her room, slammed the door and left him standing in her living room.

Now it was the next day and she was watching him, waiting.

After a few minutes of silent staring Peter cleared his throat. “MJ…”

She arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I have something I want to tell you.”

She sighed in obvious relief. “Pete, I’ve known about it since the beginning. You-“

“I’m moving in with Johnny!” He threw up his hand and added some jazz fingers for effect.

She paused and stared at him for a long moment. “And…that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Of course,” Peter said, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “What else would there be? And, no, I didn’t propose.”

MJ stared at him incredulously, pinching her nose. Her head fell into her hands and she rubbed at her temples as she groaned.

“Ooh, headache?” Peter asked, rubbing her shoulder sympathetically. “That’s a bummer.”

She lifted her head up and pasted on a weary, pleasant smile.

“Good for you, Pete,” she said. “And good for me. If you slept on my couch any more I’d have to start spraying it with bug spray every night.”

Peter had begrudgingly agreed to let Johnny buy him some new clothes. “But only the essentials,” he’d said, which of course meant Johnny had completely ignored him and gotten him a whole new wardrobe. This meant too many pairs of form-fitting jeans and button ups than he knew what to do with. All of the t-shirts were free from the various stains and holes Peter was accustomed to. They also hugged his biceps quite snugly.

“Isn’t this too small?” Peter asked, stepping out of the bathroom and toweling his hair dry. He’d put on sweatpants and a heather grey t-shirt that clung to his torso.

Johnny looked up from where he was lounging on their bed. He was lying on his stomach and scrolling through his phone but perked up when Peter paced across to him. He propped up on his knees, eyes in line with Peter’s chest as he stood at the foot of the bed.

“It’s supposed to be like that,” Johnny said, tugging on the hem of Peter’s shirt. “There’s a difference between being too tight and flattering your figure.”

Peter popped a hand on his hip and looked to the side, imagining he was on one of the many magazine covers Johnny graced with his picture.

“Is it working for me?”

Johnny hummed, working his fingers under the hem. “It’s working for me too.”

Peter grinned and gave Johnny’s shoulder a light push. Johnny fell back obligingly and Peter crawled over him, pressing kisses along his stomach and chest.
“I swear to God,” Johnny began as Peter mouthed at his throat, “if you blow a raspberry on me I’m going to kick you.”

Peter huffed a laugh against the tender skin, which was steadily growing redder. He straightened his arms and hovered over Johnny, his wet hair flopping over his eyes.

“Okay, Firefly,” he said. “My mouth is yours to command.”

Johnny snorted. “Smooth, Parker.” He reached up and gabbed ahold of the towel still flopped over Peter’s head and dragged their mouths together.

Peter decided, their heads under that towel, that he would never get tired of kissing Johnny. He doubted he would ever get tired of anything with Johnny, but especially kissing.

Johnny’s thumb had found the groove of Peter’s left elbow and he rubbed the soft skin there.

Pulling back, he asked, “How’s your arm?”

Peter rolled his shoulder. It had been the designated week Doctor Strange put him on Spidey rest, with only one knife fight in an alley being his only infringement. The newly grown muscles were still a little tender but his arm operated as an arm should.

“It’s good,” Peter replied.

“Do you think you’ll go out tonight?” Johnny asked softly.

Peter smoothed the hair back from Johnny’s forehead and kissed the spot between his eyebrows. “Yeah. You okay with that?”

Johnny pushed at Peter’s chest until he sat back on his haunches. Johnny propped himself up on his elbows and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“I’ll admit, when we first started dating I liked that you were normal. It made everything so simple. You were just a guy I liked, who liked me back. We were just like your average couple.”

“You can set yourself on fire at will,” Peter reminded him.

Johnny waved him off. “I mean apart from that. But the thing is, I love you, not the circumstances that surround you. So, if you’re a crime-fighting masked vigilante, then it’s, like, whatever. I still love you.”

Peter raised a hand to his chest. “Wow,” he whispered. “You really know how to…touch a guy.”

Johnny reached over his head, grabbed the nearest pillow, and threw it at Peter. “Ruiner! Ruiner!”

The pillow bounced off Peter’s head and he laughed, grabbing Johnny’s ankle. He dragged Johnny down to him until their hips slotted together.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Would a little sincerity kill you?”

“Possibly.”

“You’re impossible.”

Peter settled on top of Johnny and rested his chin on Johnny’s chest. “But you put up with me anyway.”

Johnny ruffled his damp hair. “Yeah, and I’m questioning why.” He bumped his knee against Peter’s side. “Now come on, get up. The others’ll be back soon and then we’re going out for Alicia’s birthday lunch.”

Once Peter had told Ben, the whole FF was in the know to his Spidey side. They were surprisingly cool with it, though Ben took a little convincing to believe it wasn’t a joke.

Peter rolled off him and allowed Johnny to hop to his feet. He watched as Johnny sifted through his wardrobe, holding up various pieces of clothing, asking for Peter’s opinion, and then choosing the opposite.

The sleeve of the Spider-Man costume had snaked out from beneath the mattress and Peter stuffed it back in.

As Johnny rattled off talk about complimenting textures and colour palettes Peter smiled to himself. Maybe everything had worked out after all.

Take that, Destiny.