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Not By Any Other Name

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Johnny always felt vaguely guilty doing this, but sometimes after a long day in Peter’s company, it was what he needed to unwind, something he needed to get out of his system. To get the longing ache he felt when Peter smiled at him a certain way back under control, he told himself, except he’d been doing this for far longer than he’d known Peter’s face. Back then it had been just Spider-Man, with that red mask and those big blank eyes, and that body. Before he’d known his face, Johnny had sometimes imagined him shrugging out of the top half of the costume, ditching the gloves, letting Johnny run his hands over his bare, hard chest and strong arms. But mostly his fantasies had involved him keeping the costume on, shoving his tights down. He’d imagine Spider-Man telling him to get on his knees as he stuck his own fingers in his mouth.

He’d kept the mask in his fantasies for a few months after he’d learned Spider-Man’s civilian identity. He felt a little guiltier, but Peter Parker was a real person with a name and a face -- heavy eyebrows and kissable lips and dark, thick hair Johnny could’ve tangled his fingers in -- and a job and an incredibly hot girlfriend he looked at like she hung the stars.

Spider-Man was faceless, and in Johnny’s imagination he could be all his.

But then he spent time with Peter, out of the mask. Warm, funny, infuriating Peter with those big brown eyes and that smile, crooked and wry, a little surprised every time like he didn’t give the real thing away that easily and hadn’t expected Johnny to coax it out of him.

Johnny wanted to make him smile all the time.

And then Peter had taken his face away. It was just for a little while, and he hadn’t done it to be cruel to Johnny. Hell, he hadn’t been thinking about Johnny at all, which made it so much worse. Peter would have gone on keeping his face and his name from Johnny, if Johnny hadn’t realized. If he hadn’t pressed so hard for Peter to take his mask back off. He’d had to fight for that – his best friend’s face.

He’d missed Peter’s face so much when he’d been made to forget it. He imagined Peter letting him take off his mask for him, how smooth the fabric would feel underneath Johnny’s fingertips as Peter’s face, familiar again, was revealed. He’d trace his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips.

Peter would kiss him, Johnny knew. He could practically feel warm, demanding lips over his own and it made him sigh, chest aching a little, his fingers skimming down his stomach to curl around his cock. He kept his touch leisurely; he knew Peter would take his time to explore. That scientific mind at work with a new element – Johnny would have hated how everything about Peter turned him on, if he didn’t love it so much.

Peter would kiss him, and Peter would strip him, those strong hands impossibly gentle, and Peter would lay him out on the bed and he’d probably talk the whole time, because Peter never could shut up. Why should he be any different in the bedroom?

In Johnny’s fantasies, what he talked about was Johnny. How good he looked, all spread out for Peter, how hard he made him. How good he felt inside. Johnny worked his slick fingers inside himself, biting his lip. See what you’re missing? he thought at Peter, wherever he was tonight. Tight and hot and all for him, if only he’d ever notice.

He let himself be a little loud as he pumped his fingers, because in his fantasies Peter would want him to be loud. Peter would want to know just how everything he did drove Johnny wild, and he’d take his time, enjoying how Johnny fell apart for him.

Johnny didn’t have that kind of patience in him tonight.

Let’s go grab dinner, maybe a movie, Peter had said. He’d left out the part of the evening where he’d talked Johnny’s ear off about his love troubles, how he couldn’t seem to make things click with Carlie Cooper (Johnny remembered her from May’s wedding – cute, if nerdy girls were your thing) and how his hot roommate Michele wanted him dead for reasons Peter assured Johnny were “completely not my fault”, and, most importantly, how Mary Jane was back in town.

Fuck, but Johnny needed to get laid. What he should have done was gone out, hit a club, found a hot guy who looked interested in holding him down. But he was too wound up to trust himself not to throw himself at some dude who’d probably run screaming to the tabloids about the Human Torch, en fuego.

It was fine; Johnny could take care of himself, when he had to. Shakily, he drew his fingers out.

He teased at himself with the head of the dildo, because Peter would be a tease. He’d make Johnny beg for it. Peter in Johnny’s fantasies was just as pushy and infuriating and impossible in the bedroom as he always was out of it – and Johnny loved it.

He started to push it in – slowly, at first. Control was something both he and Peter both knew a little too much about. It had become a game he played with himself over the years: how long he could fantasize about Spider-Man fucking him before he said his name.

He didn’t torture himself very much tonight, simply sighing, “Oh, Peter.”

Peter would like him like that, soft and sweet. At first. Peter was, at heart, an adrenaline junkie; sooner or later, he’d want Johnny to be wild. The thought sent a thrill through him as he arched his back for his imaginary audience.

“Peter,” he gasped, totally immersed in the fantasy, Peter’s strong grip, holding him down, groaning at how well Johnny took him. He started to work the dildo harder, faster, as a loud moan tore itself from his throat. “Peter, oh, Peter --”

There was a thump on the windowsill; Johnny froze. He turned his head and saw him, a dark shape on the window sill in a familiar crouch.

“I heard,” Spider-Man said, voice all strangled. “I thought I heard you calling my name.”

Panic shot through Johnny. He immediately grabbed for his discarded sheets, desperate to cover himself, but his bedside lamp was on and he’d been naked in its glow. Peter had seen him naked, and Peter had seen him fucking himself with the dildo, and Peter had heard.

If the cosmic rays hadn’t given Johnny the power to burst into flames a decade before, the red hot humiliation coursing through his veins definitely would have done the job.

“What – what are you doing here?” he asked, breathless, clutching the sheets to his chest. He swallowed hard, wishing fervently that he’d been granted Sue’s powers instead, because there was nothing more he wanted in the moment than to disappear.

Or the ability to shove Peter out the window from across the room. That would’ve worked too.

“I was…” Peter started, his voice funny, then stopped. “You were…”

Peter,” Johnny snapped, feeling the ends of his hair start to flicker in flames. The sheets were him-proofed, which was good, because he could feel his fingertips begin to smoke.

Peter shook his head like he was trying to snap himself out of it. “I was – I was having an unproductive night of webbing up muggers, thought I’d drop in, see if you were still up, you know, thinking, gee, it’d be great to see some more of my ol’ friend Johnny Storm.” He cleared his throat. “And then I really saw some more of my ol’ friend, Johnny Storm.”

Johnny wanted to yell at him for the line, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. His flames died; Peter had been looking for him. He’d just wanted to hang out, and now Johnny had probably ruined the best friendship he’d ever had just because he’d liked the shine of the city lights too much to close his window and draw the blinds.

Just because he’d imagined Peter coming in through that very window. But not like this. Not actually.

“I heard – noises,” Peter said, stilted, and Johnny felt himself go red all over again. “I thought maybe you were in trouble.”

Johnny had never blushed so much in his life, not even the time rest of the team had walked in on him and Crystal when he’d been nineteen. “You can see that I’m not.”

“Yeah, sure. I can see that,” Peter said, still sounding strange. He pulled himself in through the window, shutting it. The city lit him up from behind, making his blue and red costume look, for a split second, like his black one. In spite of himself, in spite of how badly he wanted to just fall through the floor and let the Mole Man’s kingdom swallow him up – Johnny shivered.

He knew better than to think he’d seen Peter at his worst, but he’d seen him pretty bad. He knew why criminals and civilians alike might be afraid of Spider-Man. It was just that he never had been.

“What you were saying…” Peter said, standing in the middle of Johnny’s room. “You were saying ‘Peter.’”

Peter tossed the mask to the floor. His eyes were very wide and his face was covered in a fierce blush. Johnny felt pinned by his gaze. He could only lie there in his bed, barely covered by the sheet, breathing hard with the dildo still inside him. His whole being seemed to pulse around it even as Peter’s gaze burned through him.

“You weren’t thinking about Paste Pot Pete, were you?” Peter asked, voice low and steady, deceptively calm. His Spider-Man means business voice.

Johnny shivered.

“No, I was – I wasn’t…” he stammered, but it was very clear what he had been doing, and whose name he’d been calling out. “I’m fine –” mortified, possibly never leaving the Baxter Building ever again, except maybe to go to some remote planet where he’d live out the rest of his days in solitude, but fine – “so you can. You know. Leave?”

He waved one hand desperately in the direction of the window, the other still clutching the sheets.

“Yeah, uh,” Peter said. “There’s a – there’s a little problem with that.”

“What?” Johnny snapped, feeling angry now. It was bad enough that Peter had to barge into his room like this, like he always did, like he felt like he could just waltz into Johnny’s space whenever he wanted with no regard for how Johnny felt, for what he did to Johnny every time, and now he wouldn’t even leave so Johnny could wallow and maybe cry. A few sparks flew as he gestured furiously at himself. “You want to give me a hand or something?”

Peter breathed in sharply.

“Yeah, actually,” he said.

Johnny stilled, the sparks fading from his skin. He stared at Peter, mouth hanging open. “What?”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Peter repeated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’d really like to give you a hand.”

Johnny, still not entirely sure what was happening, said, voice hushed, the only two words that came to mind, “Oh. Okay.”

He regretted it as soon as he said it, but he couldn’t seem to be able to say anything, to take it back. Peter was going to start laughing at him any moment, he knew, but all he could do in that moment was lie there on his bed and wait for it.

“Okay?” Peter repeated, still, strangely, not laughing.

Johnny nodded.

“Lie back down,” Peter instructed and Johnny did as he asked, gingerly letting himself sink back against his mattress. He still held the sheet to his chest. Every little movement reminded him all over again of the dildo still inside him, and that reminded him that Peter had seen, and seriously, where was the invasion from Atlantis when Johnny needed it?

Peter moved like a predator, silent on his feet as he approached the bed. His hand landed over Johnny’s and he squeezed, his thumb rubbing roughly across Johnny’s knuckles before he pried Johnny’s fingers from their stranglehold on the sheet. For a second Johnny imagined that he was like anyone else, that he could feel the chill of the air as Peter stripped the sheet away, imagining the goosebumps on his skin. Peter tossed the sheet off the bed, gaze raking over Johnny’s body as he climbed onto the bed.

Johnny was still waiting for the punchline.

“May I?” Peter asked. Gloved hands landed on Johnny’s thighs, spreading him out.

Johnny flung an arm over his eyes, laughing hysterically.

“This is a – this is some kind of weird supervillain joke, right?” Johnny said, swallowing hard as Peter got his legs up and apart. “A, um, a Doombot got into some weird parts of the internet and – you not saying anything is not helping, Pete.”

There was a pause, and then Peter croaked, “I’m just sort of having a moment here, hot stuff, don’t mind me.”

Johnny moved his arm. Peter was settled between his spread legs, gaze fixed between them. Johnny whimpered a little, involuntary, and Peter looked up. Johnny had never seen that look in his eyes before.

For a second neither of them spoke. And then Johnny heard himself ask: “I thought you were going to give me a hand?”

Peter started to laugh – for one panicky second, Johnny thought at him, at thinking Peter would ever – but then he squeezed Johnny’s thigh, pressed a kiss to the side of his knee. He said, “Geez, Torch. If I told you you had a hot body, would you hold it against me?”

Johnny, startled, started laughing too, a little hysterically. He couldn’t believe Peter was really here, on his bed between his spread legs, looking at him like that. Like he liked what he was seeing – really liked it.

For a second Johnny thought that maybe the laughter had broken whatever tenuous spell they were under. That Peter would admit it was a joke. That Johnny, humiliated, would have to go along with it, and maybe someday, ten or thirty years down the line, he’d be able to look Peter in the eyes again. If he ever moved out of the hole he’d immediately have to go crawl into, at least. He hoped the Mole Man wouldn’t mind a roommate.

Then Peter stopped laughing.

“Hey,” he said, the humor falling from his voice. He pressed a hand flat to Johnny’s stomach with just enough strength behind it to make Johnny feel pinned. He tried not to shiver too much when he thought about how strong Peter really was, and how he could do whatever he wanted to Johnny, here in this bed, if Johnny let him. Johnny would let him. “Relax, okay? I got you. I’ve always got you.”

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed out. He jolted as Peter’s fingers drifted soft up the inside of his thigh. “I know. Peter –”

Johnny,” Peter cut him off. He gripped the base of the dildo and Johnny grabbed the bars of his headboard so he didn’t do something stupid like grab Peter. “I really got you.”

“Oh,” Johnny said as Peter started to draw it out, his toes curling in the sheets. Peter’s other hand gripped his thigh, fingers rubbing restless little circles. Johnny doubted he even knew he was doing it; Peter was always fidgeting with something – fixing a busted webshooter or drumming his fingers against a table. Johnny had just never really expected to feel the touch of those talented fingers against his naked thigh. “Spidey…”

“Good,” Peter soothed as Johnny threw his head back with a gasp, tightening his grip on the headboard. He was being slow – steady, but teasing, just like Johnny had always thought he would, pushing the dildo back into him. “Torch. You – oh, this is a lot.”

Johnny managed to get himself together enough to say, “It’s not that much.”

His reward was hysterical laughter and Peter picking up the pace, fucking Johnny with the dildo in honest. Johnny moaned, overcome, desperate to hold onto Peter, to feel Peter against him – but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lie there and take whatever Peter was giving him, rocking his hips to try and get the thing deeper. Peter’s fingers tightened on hip, holding him still. Johnny bit his lip to keep from whining.

“What were you thinking about?” Peter asked, squeezing Johnny’s hip with his iron grip. “When I came in and you were moaning my name? Fucking yourself on this thing? What were you thinking about?”

“I think you know,” Johnny said, uncurling one hand from the headboard so he could put it over his eyes.

“I want to hear you say it,” Peter said.

“You,” Johnny admitted, almost choking on the word.

“Me, what?” He slowed the pace back down again, pulling the dildo almost all the way out before pushing it back in. Johnny whined, head thrown back.

“Fucking me,” he said.

Peter’s hand stilled. He swallowed, audibly. Johnny shifted, trying to get the dildo deeper again, but Peter’s fingers tightened on his hip again. He leaned over Johnny, covering him with his own body. Heat shot through Johnny, so much he almost didn’t catch what Peter said next.

“You got condoms here?” he asked, right in Johnny’s ear.

Johnny’s head wasn’t working right, not with Spider-Man all over him. “Wha – bedside drawer. Why?”

“Because,” Peter said, pulling the dildo out of him entirely. Johnny yelped, clenching down to try and keep it in him, before Peter’s next words hit, “I want to make that little fantasy come true, but I don’t think I’m physically capable of leaving your bed.”

Johnny swallowed hard. For a second he thought he hadn’t heard right, empty and aching with Peter stroking up and down the inside of his thigh, thumb rubbing little circles.

“Johnny?” Peter pressed. He gently took Johnny’s hand away from his face and Johnny didn’t know what he’d expected to see on Peter’s face, but that dark blush hadn’t been it. “Is that – is that okay?”

Johnny nodded fervently, closing his eyes. “Yeah – yeah, that’s, that’d be really – you should do that.”

“Okay,” Peter said, voice low and serious. He squeezed Johnny’s thigh and then he leaned over him, yanking the drawer open hard enough to rattle it. Johnny tried to breathe evenly, but Peter lying over him made him all the more aware of him, of his body heat, his presence pressing down on Johnny. Peter was here and Peter was going to fuck him.

If Peter ever stopped rooting around in his drawer for condoms, anyway.

“Pete, not to nag, but I’m sort of hard up here,” he said, nudging Peter with his leg. Peter grumbled.

“You think I’m making you wait on purpose?” he said. “You have so much junk in here!”

Johnny shoved at him until he let up enough that he could move, stuck his hand in the drawer, and pulled out a condom. He brandished it in front of Peter’s face.

Peter wasn’t looking at his hand, though, no – Peter was staring at his face.

Peter was staring at his mouth.

“What are you…?” Johnny just barely got out before Peter was cupping his cheek with one gloved hand and leaning in to kiss him.

Peter tasted a little like stale coffee, and maybe he hadn’t been home since Johnny last saw him, because his stubble scraped against Johnny’s jaw, but the kiss -- the kiss was so perfect Johnny sang with it.

“Oh,” Johnny sighed into Peter’s mouth, eyelids fluttering.

“Was that okay?” Peter asked. He stroked Johnny’s cheek with the back of his knuckles, very gently.

Johnny couldn’t imagine any world where Peter Parker kissing him wouldn’t be welcome.

“Do it again?” he asked.

“Your wish,” Peter said, kissing him once lightly on the lips before moving to his chin, his jaw, his cheek. He cradled Johnny’s face with his hands. “My command. Wow, you’re pretty. Am I allowed to say --?”

“Why do you keep asking that?” Johnny cut him off, grabbing onto his shoulders. He pulsed all over, hot and anticipatory, his cock leaking onto his stomach, and all he could think about was that Peter wanted to fuck him, Peter was going to fuck him, why wasn’t Peter fucking him already? “I want everything you want to give me.”

Peter made a soft noise, kissing, ridiculously, Johnny’s chin.

“Okay,” he said, sounding a little stunned. “Okay. There’s definitely something I want to give you.”

He slid down Johnny’s body slowly, mouthing at his neck and at his collarbones. He playfully bit Johnny’s nipples, pressed his smile against his chest when Johnny whined, and kissed a lazy path down Johnny’s chest and stomach that never sped up even when Johnny curled a hand in his hair and begged him.

The first brush of Peter’s fingers against his cock was enough to make him shout.

“Shh, Torch,” Peter said. “Don’t want to wake up the family, do you?”

“Thick walls,” Johnny mumbled, arching into Peter’s touch. “Don’t, ah, worry about it. Peter.”

“In that case, Johnny,” Peter said, mockingly echoing Johnny’s whine as he closed his fist around him. “I want to hear you. Come on – I know you can be loud.”

Johnny couldn’t have helped the moan even if he’d wanted. “Peter, please, I need--”

“S’okay, pretty boy,” Peter soothed, like a switch flipped, nothing but affection in his voice. He kissed him again, cutting off his pleas. “I get the message. I know what you need.”

“Wait,” Johnny said when Peter made to flip him over, grabbing Peter’s arm. Anxiety curled in his stomach, remembering -- It’s like I used to know, but, and the creeping realization that his best friend’s face and his name had been wiped from his recollection, made a hundred times worse when Spider-Man wouldn’t give it back. “I want – your face. I want to see your face.”

“Now, see, I’ve gotten requests to leave the mask on before, and one memorable time a burlap sack was requested, but this is new,” Peter said, waggling his eyebrows. Johnny felt himself start to blush all over again, but he didn’t think he’d be able to believe it if he wasn’t actually looking at Peter.

“Please,” he said, swallowing hard. “Peter, please.”

“Alright, not like I’m gonna miss the chance to look at your pretty face,” Peter said, eyes gone all soft as he palmed Johnny’s cheek. Johnny whimpered, just a little, and Peter’s expression softened further. “Hey, if you want to take a break, or stop –”

“If you don’t fuck me this second, I will set you on fire,” Johnny said, and Peter laughed, wild and delighted.

“Well,” he said, settling back between Johnny’s knees again. “In the interests of not being set on fire…”

Peter slipped two fingers into him – when had he lost the gloves? – apparently just to feel, kissing the inside of Johnny’s thigh as he did.

“You get yourself open like this?” he asked, pressing the words into Johnny’s skin as he pumped his fingers. “Use your fingers to get yourself all nice and ready for me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, the word melting a little into a whine. “While I’m – while you’re out swinging, I do it, I pretend they’re yours –”

Peter’s breath stuttered.

“Oh, this is,” he mumbled, pulling his fingers out. He touched Johnny’s hole with his thumb for just one second before he was getting up on his knees and pulling off the top half of his costume, his words muffled by the fabric. “This is way too much, Johnny, I gotta, I gotta be in you –”

Peter shoved his tights down and his cock sprang free. Johnny’s breath hitched. He wanted to touch it, to slide his fingers around the thick shaft and stroke. He wanted to wrap his lips around the head and sink down, take Peter in his mouth, let Peter fuck his face. He wanted Peter to push between his slicked up thighs – but he didn’t want any of that as much as he wanted Peter to hold him down and thrust inside him.

“Hot stuff?” Peter said, nothing but heat in his eyes as he rolled the condom on. He got Johnny’s legs up and apart, the head of his cock pressed against Johnny’s hole. Liquid heat curled in Johnny’s blood. “Last chance here.”

Johnny opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a smart comeback, couldn’t focus on anything but Peter’s cock rubbing up against him. “Peter, please, please --”

Peter spread his thighs wider and moved.

The stretch was better than the dildo, Peter thicker and longer, and the heat – Johnny could feel the heat of Peter’s body like a map, over him and now inside him too, pushing in. If he closed his eyes he could still see all of Peter, the tight line of his shoulders, the way his lip was caught between his teeth.

The noise he made was almost silent, head thrown back and mouth open as Peter thrust into him. He couldn’t seem to find his voice.

Maybe he’d lost that to Peter, too.

“Easy, easy,” Peter grunted. “You are so – you feel so good, hot stuff. You’re perfect, that’s it.”

Then Peter was leaning over him, and Peter was kissing him.

They kissed for a long moment – or rather, Peter kissed Johnny and Johnny took it, mouth open under Peter’s, too overcome to even move. His hand trembled at the back of Peter’s neck. Peter seemed to pulse inside him, volcanic. Johnny felt like the best kind of on fire, like nothing but pure desire.

“Thick walls, right?” Peter broke away to murmur, and Johnny barely had time to register the sound of his voice before Peter thrust hard. The headboard slammed against the wall, loud – but Johnny was louder. He only barely just heard Peter over the cry of his own voice. “Come on, hot stuff, say my name.”

“Spidey,” Johnny groaned, eyes screwed tight.

“No,” Peter said, the word punctuated by another hard thrust. “Say my name, Johnny.”

“Pete,” Johnny said. He slid his fingers into Peter’s thick dark hair, dug his heel into the small of Peter’s back. Louder, he said, “Peter.”

“That’s it,” Peter urged. “Come on, hot stuff, say my name –"

“Peter,” he repeated, throwing his head back. Peter lips met his exposed throat, biting kisses into his skin. Johnny found himself wrapping his arms around him, fingers skating down Peter’s sweat-slick skin. He was so hot, had always run that way since Johnny had known him. Johnny loved it. “Peter, Peter, ah—”

It was too much, the relentless rhythm of Peter’s thrusts, the barely hidden strength of him, and that face Johnny had been fantasizing about on and off for almost half of his life, both before and after he knew what it looked like. (He’d used to play a guessing game with himself – brown eyes? Blue?) He reached out to touch it, hand fitting to the side of his face. Peter’s eyes went dark as he turned his face into Johnny’s touch, kissing his palm.

“Peter,” Johnny repeated, breathlessly. “I need –”

Peter didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. He sealed their mouths together again, swallowing Johnny’s choked off moan as Peter curled his fingers around his cock again. A few strokes and it was over, Johnny’s orgasm crashing over him as he spilled all over Peter’s hand and his own stomach. He buzzed all over, just under his skin, a feeling in his veins like stepping out into the sunshine even though it was the middle of the night.

Johnny’s imagination had never been able to capture this: the part of Peter’s lips, the curl of his mask-messy hair, the sweep of his long eyelashes. All the little things that made up the exact look on Peter’s face as he fucked Johnny. The exact cadence of his voice when he moaned Johnny’s name as he came moments later, his fingers tightening on Johnny’s hips.

Peter collapsed on top of him, his face buried against Johnny’s throat. They lay there for a long moment, tangled together. The only sound in the room was their mingled breathing, and the silence almost rang. Johnny had never imagined silence with Peter being comfortable, but in that second it was perfect.

“Did that just happen?” Peter finally mumbled, lips warm against Johnny’s neck.

Johnny curled a tentative hand in Peter’s sweaty hair. “You tell me.”

“Hard to say,” Peter said. He kissed Johnny’s throat for a moment, slow and lazy. “Am I crushing you?”

“I like it,” Johnny told him, but Peter was already lifting off of him and pulling out. Johnny rolled onto his side and watched as Peter tied off the condom and tossed it into the small wastebasket across the room – a perfect throw, of course.

He didn’t know what was going to happen now. He was singing all over, but now that Peter wasn’t touching him anymore he felt – cold. Lonely. He wanted Peter to come back, to lie down and pull him into his arms and kiss him again.

Except Peter wasn’t his boyfriend.

“He shoots, he definitely scored,” Peter said, complete with fake cheering noises. Johnny snorted.

“Dork,” he said.

Peter twisted to look at him, and whatever comeback he’d had died on his lips. Instead he just stared at him, mouth a little open, and self-consciousness shot through Johnny, along with a little bit of panic. What if Peter had been under some supervillain whammy? What if somehow he hadn’t really meant it – or rather, hadn’t meant it with Johnny? What if he’d just gotten lost in the moment?

What if it had just been a cruel joke that had gone too far?

“Peter?” he said, resisting the urge to reach for the top sheet and cover himself up.

“I just,” Peter broke off with a swallow. “I wish I had my camera.”

Johnny sucked in a breath, surprised.

“Geez,” Peter muttered, bending down to kiss him, much to Johnny’s surprise. He brushed a thumb against Johnny’s cheek. “And here I didn’t think you could actually blush. Is it really that surprising that you’re nice to look at?”

“Maybe I’m just a little surprised you want to look,” Johnny mumbled in the little space between them. “Peter, I… I…”

“Shh,” Peter murmured, stroking Johnny’s arm. “I’m going to be right back, okay?”

Johnny nodded. He laid back down and stared at the ceiling, listening to Peter pad away, quiet as a cat. He sighed as soon as he heard the bathroom door click closed, touching his own lips. Peter had kissed him. Peter had fucked him. Peter had been perfect, better than any guilty fantasy.

If only Johnny had any idea what was going to happen next.

He startled when the door clicked back open and Peter reappeared holding a damp towel. Johnny’s gaze swept over his body. It was unfair how good Peter looked naked.

“Hey,” Peter said, climbing back into bed. Johnny wanted to reach for him, but he didn’t.

“Hey,” he returned, shifting as Peter leaned over him.

“Thank goodness you live in an ivory tower with an en suite,” Peter said, cleaning the come off Johnny’s stomach. “I looked at myself in your bathroom mirror and I don’t think there’s any hiding what I was here for if someone caught me skulking in the hall now.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, reaching up to tug on a lock of Peter’s sweaty hair. “You’re a mess right now.”

“Speak for yourself, hot stuff,” Peter huffed. His touch was so gentle it made Johnny shiver all over again.

There was an awkward moment, Peter just kneeling on the edge of the bed, looking as unsure as Johnny felt. Then Johnny swallowed hard, shifted over, and patted the space between them.

“Stay?” he said. “It doesn’t have to be all night. I know how you get about swinging.”

There was a pause, and then Peter said, “Alright.”

Johnny smiled and opened his arms. Peter took the invitation.

“I mean, I can’t complain, obviously, since it worked out so well for me,” Peter said, pulling Johnny down practically on top of him and letting him get comfortable against his chest. “But you really should lock your windows at night. Lot of flying weirdos out there.”

“I know,” Johnny mumbled, spreading his fingers out on Peter’s chest. He felt sated and a little unsure, surprised that Peter had slipped back into his bed with no argument, but euphoric over it all. “I have a date with one of them tomorrow.”

Peter laughed, but then he fell quiet. His fingers drifted up and down Johnny’s arm, just barely touching.

“What about a date tomorrow with a weirdo who swings instead?” he asked, rolling them over carefully so that he was nose to nose to Johnny. Johnny blinked at him.

“Like…?” he said. “A date-date, or…?”

He wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to just sex, but Johnny would have been lying if he said he didn’t want the whole thing – hearts and flowers and lying together in Central Park on sunny days. Peter’s warm eyes and his smile and him kissing Johnny just because he felt like it.

“Like… dinner and a movie,” Peter said, sounding a little out of step himself. “We can go back to yours – or mine? -- if you want, but we don’t have to.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, swallowing. He couldn’t seem to remember how to say anything else.

“Or we could just, uh, hop back into bed. I’m not really that guy, contrary to evidence, but if you -- ” Peter said, too quickly, and Johnny tilted his head to kiss him, cutting him off before he could stop babbling.

“Movie first,” Johnny told him.