Archive of Our Own

Spider-Man could’ve handled the Rhino on his own; Johnny knew that. But the two were always better together.

The first was generally a lone wolf; Spider-Man was a vigilante whose own opinion was that he had no business asking the officials for help unless it was dire, and he eagerly wanted to prove himself. He had a goal in mind when he shimmied into these tights and he was going to reach it without help. He could handle this.

Yes, but things were different when they came to Johnny. He had an increasing suspicion Spidey was closer in age to him than the rest of the Four, and they’d quickly become somewhat friends (can you be friends with someone you don’t technically know?). As far as Johnny knew, their relationship was the closest Spidey shared with any other supers without including the mentor-like alliance he seemed to have with Tony Stark, so he came to Johnny if he decided too many lives were in danger for him to work alone. At least, that’s how it started. It had unintentionally evolved from, “There are people in that burning building,” to, “‘Sup, wanna come on patrol?”

Not that Johnny minded. He liked being needed, and he loved being wanted. When he was alone, the social butterfly in him protested harshly, and having three teammates (family members, really) to fall back on was a welcome security.

However, when the Four weren’t busy saving the world, they were busy leading semi-normal lives. Reed and Sue were doing whatever sciency thing, and Ben was trying to live life as efficiently as a rock dude could. They tried to make sure Johnny got his schoolwork done and didn’t cause any catastrophes, but other than that, he was left to his own devices until nighttime.

He took care of himself fairly well—he ate his veggies and drank his milk. That being said, he was a natural wild child. And being on his own? Being on his own gave time to think. Time to think led to having some…questionable ideas, most of which Sue made very clear she did not want a repeat of. So yeah, it was better when he wasn’t alone.

Going with Spidey on patrols was a totally different atmosphere than The Four’s usual gig at it’s surface, but once you got down to the roots of it, they were the same thing. They had the same end goal: helping others in the place they loved. They were both running around in skin-tight costumes and dramatic codenames, so who was Johnny to judge? Dodgy vigilante work is the real heroism. Spider-Man was the one on the streets, doing the nitty-gritty work that most heroes left behind, helping ordinary people from ordinary crime. Then he could turn around and be badass and take down villains. The guy was so selfless! Johnny admired him more than a little, if the bootleg poster he hid in his closet was anything to go by (one downside of having a secret identity? Peter wasn’t seeing any royalties from Spidey merch). When the two went out together, they’d browse the streets or sit on rooftops waiting for Spider-Man’s danger sense to go off and chatting.

Besides, he had way more fun when they worked together. Where else would he get to hear puns this bad?

Spider-Man knocked on Johnny’s window. He had its location carefully memorized; two windows down, three to the right—twelve if you’re coming from the south end of Madison Avenue. Johnny looked up from his laptop and grinned.

“Hey, Webs!” he said as he further opened the window. He had suggested the manual feature to the Reed, who thought it was just a marvelous idea that would benefit the team. Johnny prefered using it to sneak out.

Spidey’s mask crinkled around his mouth, which was the only way anyone could tell if he smiled. Or made any facial expression at all, really.

“Hey, Torch.” His words were slightly wobbly with adrenaline. “You wanna come help me out with the Rhino?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” came Johnny’s reply with a charming smile.

Spider-Man didn’t think much of the flirtatious undertone (he was almost certain Johnny had come out of the womb and winked at the nurse), even though a part of him wished it were real. But that was a very, very small part of him. The rest of him thought Johnny was an annoying shithead. A funny and dare he say handsome shithead, but still a shithead nonetheless.

He could’ve handled the Rhino on his own; Spider-Man knew that. But everyone needs a friend.

Johnny was already halfway out the window when he jerked to a stop. He threw his leg back into the room and proceeded to unbutton his jeans. Spider-Man scoffed (after he stopped being scandalized).

“They’re designer!” Johnny all but screeched. He couldn’t see Spidey’s eyeroll, which was probably a good thing.

“Whatever, Flamebrain. Just hurry up.” As soon as Johnny had his FF suit on with not designer clothes over it, they jumped out the window.

It was mid afternoon on the weekend, and the November sun had just began to set. The blue and purple tones in the sky were captivating the eyes of every tourist and people visiting family while on vacation (well, at least the ones who weren’t busy escaping a Russian mafia-thug-turned-assault-weapon). It wasn’t anything more than entertaining to the heroes, who kept chatting.

“Just because you live in spandex doesn’t mean other people can’t appreciate their clothes!” Johnny shouted, trying to be sure he was heard over the wind rushing by their ears.

“Hey! I don’t live in spandex,” Spidey defended. “I have a life! Sort of…”

The two were now nearing the Rhino, who’d just thrown a car through the window of a thankfully empty purse shop. They watched as a man stopped in the midst of fleeted chaos to pick up a Michael Kors bag that had flown unscathed out of the path of destruction.

“Well, it’s not like I would know that.” His tone was a hint indignant.

Spider-Man sighed, but it came out as more of a gasp from strain and exertion of swinging so quickly. “It’s called a secret identity for a reason, Johnny,” he said.

“I know, I know,” Johnny replied, although it didn’t sound like he knew at all. “But is it so bad that I want to know my friend’s name? I mean, you know my name.”

“Everybody knows your name, Johnny.” He sent a web towards the Rhino and missed by an inch. This is why you don’t fight with a distraction, he reminded himself. Another part of his mind briefly told him that Johnny is the best distraction a guy could ask for.

The teen was easily redirected for once. He smirked.

“You’re damn right they do,” he said. This enlisted a scoff from Spidey.

“I’m adding that one to my notably lengthy list of egotistical bullshit you’ve said.”

The retort was lost in the crashing sounds of a battle, but the vigilante was pretty sure it was a dick joke. He let out a snicker in spite of himself.

Johnny was a good friend to have.

“I figured out why you won’t show me your face.”

Peter rolled his eyes under the mask. He seemed to do that a lot around Johnny.

“And why is that?” He asked from the bed, uninterested. Aunt May would not be proud of his sarcasm.

Johnny turned away from the mirror above his dresser where he was currently coaxing his hair into it’s usual position. The two friends had just gotten to the Baxter Building after battling a swarm of mutant dragonflies that actually breathed fire. Why? Because that’s Parker Luck, that’s why. Also because Spider-Man mostly handles things that come from the sewer. Mostly, the Human Torch fought the dragonflies while Spider-Man embarrassingly fought for his life as the insects stuck to his suit like Velcro. They came to Johnny like a moth to a flame—which is basically what it was, actually— and Peter was luckily left with only some singed hair and less dignity than when he’d gone into the fight.

“You’re insecure around me because I’m obviously a male model,” Johnny gave himself an appreciative look in the mirror, “and you feel inferior. It’s okay. I get that.”

There were a few seconds of silence. The beginning of a smirk grew on Johnny’s face.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, “I still love you.” He turned to look at Spider-Man again, who was half-covered by Johnny’s textured comforter, gangly limbs spread out and reaching for the corners of the bed.

Peter didn’t think it was physically possible for him to sigh so loudly. He probably broke some sort of record.

Johnny persisted. “I’m not kidding! It’s not my fault I was blessed with these gorgeous blue eyes.” This time, he winked at his own reflection.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose like he could possibly be any older than sixteen, Spidey said, “I’ll forgive you for saying something so incredibly idiotic if you just shut up right now.”

Johnny’s not great at following directions.

He crept over to Spidey, casting a shadow on his curtains that the younger thought would make a really gorgeous picture, if only he hadn’t left his camera at home. Johnny grinned wider than the Grinch that stole Christmas, and Spider-Man knew he was in deep shit.

The Torch pounced, the impact shaking the bed frame as well as the blond hair that’d just been tamed.

Apparently, the spidey-sense works on would-be muggers and other baddies, but not on annoying friends. Good to know.

The blankets were yanked off of Spidey’s lithe figure. What sheets didn’t fall to the floor found their way to Spider-Man’s boot, tangling themselves in a way that was just really inconvenient and to Johnny’s advantage. Johnny faked a pile drive, then rolled his way onto the boney hips of Spider-Man, who was making a half-hearted getaway.

“Prepare to meet your imminent doom!” Johnny announced in a deep, mocking voice. It was a disappointingly accurate imitation of the villains they’d fought, and he didn’t quite make it to the end of the sentence since his giggling interrupted it. Peter let himself be pinned down by his wrists and screeched.

He looked at the way Johnny pressed his legs firmly to Peter’s sides. This is sort of hot, a deeply forbidden part of him thought. The much, much more rational side of him replied, Oh my God, you’re like, a fetus! Shut up.

“You’ll never take me alive!” He shrieked at a higher pitch than he’d like to believe. He wriggled his torso, pretending to try and escape but not putting any real effort into it. He was fully content to play along. He didn't grow up having many friends, and certainly none close enough to do this with. His smile grew a little wider.

Johnny grinned as evilly as he could, but his excitement showing through his eyes and his childlike giggle ruined to effect to an extent. “Then I guess I’ll have to take you dead!”

At that, Johnny viciously tickle-attacked Peter, and if Peter let him, he’d never admit it.

The first time Peter actually acknowledged the fact that he liked Johnny in a more-than-friends way was when they were playing Black Ops in the Fantastic Four’s living room around three A.M.

Well, it was more like Spider-Man and Johnny were playing Black Ops (which was admittedly less fun when you’d been shot in real life), as Peter had yet to unmask himself in front of his friend. He was still suited up minus the gloves for maximum videogame superiority, and Johnny was in gray sweatpants that looked way too good on him to be considered fair.

Spidey had traded in an exceptionally slow patrol in favor for a night with his best friend—could he call him that when he didn’t even know Peter’s name? It was true—and maybe to use him for pizza. He definitely wasn’t missing the opportunity to work on his overdue literary analysis so he they could hang out. That would be irresponsible, and Spidey was all about responsibility.

Nobody could blame him for wanting to be around Johnny. The guy had a good reason for being so egotistical, and he bought Peter pizza with extra pepperoni. What wasn’t to love? Speaking of the l-word, he maybe liked Johnny a teeny bit—as in, like liked Johnny. Once again, nobody could blame him. The only problem was that guys like Johnny didn’t date guys like Peter. Peter was a mostly friendless, mostly gay, mostly awkward fifteen year-old, and Johnny was way cooler than that. He didn’t date guys like him. He didn’t date guys period. So when any fantasies of kissing or cuddling Johnny crept into his imagination, Peter shoved them way the fuck into the back of his mind. Denial always was one of his strengths.

Part of Peter wanted to get closer to Johnny anyways, regardless of his kinda-crush. Their friendship was natural but not unbreakable, and Pete was sure they could be closer if he just let them. Their arguments weren’t serious when they had them, and their pun wars (Well, Peter made the puns, Johnny tried to stop him) were next level. If they were official besties, they’d be the power couple of supers. Still, he wasn’t sure if it would be the right choice to get any more involved. He really, really wanted to, but if he knew more about him, more personal things about him, would that just fuel his crush that he was still in denial about having?

Should he just tell him who he was? Johnny was a superhero, damn it. If a villain targeted him because he was related to Peter, which he was pretty used to without Peter’s help, well...he could literally burst into flames whenever he felt like it. Not to say Pete wanted him to be attacked or wasn’t worried about that happening, but it didn’t seem probable. Johnny could protect himself, and there was no way he’d release Peter’s identity to the public. Johnny could be rash and at times a hothead (ba-dum-tss!), but he wasn’t a complete dick. Usually.

But just because Johnny could protect himself didn’t mean Peter wanted him to have to utilize that ability, especially not because of his relation to Peter. Enough people had gotten hurt because of him. There didn’t need to be more.

A small part of him still had hope. What if Johnny felt comfortable enough around Peter to tell him something he’d never told anyone before? Something important. Something like how he was sometimes attracted to other dudes, and hey, one of those dudes happened to be Peter! And then they kissed and lived happily ever after and...his imagination was way out of control.

Alright. So he had a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty crush on Johnny. Whatever. No biggie, probably. They were besties, this kind of thing happens sometimes.

He lost himself in these thoughts, mindlessly jabbing his thumbs and forefingers against the buttons of his (Johnny’s?) controller. Between games, he reached up to peel his unpleasantly tight, sweaty mask from his face, stacking two slices of cheesy goodness in his other hand and taking a bite.

He only realized his mistake when the next game started and Johnny’s character died immediately. His blue eyes were transfixed on Peter, too busy oogling at his face to focus on anything else.

Oh shit.

Peter lived by one motto, and one motto only. It had gotten him through every rough point in his short-yet-eventful life. He used it in only the direst of situations, and he’d be damned if he didn’t use it now. This motto was responsible for every single success he’d ever had. He’d beaten insane villains with this motto, avoided his aunt’s suspicions, and comforted citizens. There was no way it’d fail him now.

When in doubt, deflect.

“Is there something on my face?” He asked through a mouthful of half-chewed pizza. It was probably rude, and not important right now. And unattractive. But that didn’t matter anyways, since Johnny was, was...Peter’s best friend, damn it, Parker!

Johnny seemed to overcome his temporary paralysis from seeing Peter’s face. He stuttered with his words a bit, uncharacteristic for his usual charisma, before dropping his controller to the carpet. He took a deep breath. Peter wondered if this was an inappropriate time to keep eating his pizza.

“Your face. The face that’s been kept secret from the entire world up until this point...Oh my God, Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed. He was torn between staring at Peter without stopping to blink and covering his eyes, so he did both, peeking through the gaps in his fingers.

“Heh...surprise?” Peter breathed. "I mean, I usually wait until at least the third date, but..." He stared down the offending mask so intently it looked as if he were attempting to use telekinesis to put it back on and cover his blush. He’s done a lot of horribly awkward things in the past, but this? This was bad. Like, really bad. I-royally-fucked-up bad.

Well no shit, Sherlock, he thought angrily. Of course his big identity reveal was an accident.

Johnny took a shuddering breath and brought his hand away from his eyes. He placed it on Peter’s chin, inspecting him. His own excited flush had gone down.

There was a moment’s pause in which Peter forgot everything he’d just lectured himself on.

“So this means my theory was wrong.” He said with finality, looking at Peter as if he’d done something puzzling.

The younger boy was just confused (as usual) and hungry (as usual). He decided the best way to communicate this was to stare blankly at Johnny in silence, and then slowly take a bite of his pizza.

Thankfully, he received the message. He frowned. “My theory. That you wouldn’t show me your face because of my incomparible hotness?” Peter nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah. It’s wrong. You’re hot, too.” Peter just blinked at him. Okay, now he was hallucinating. Did Johnny Storm—the Johnny Storm, most desired and fawned over teen beaut of the century—just call him hot? By his own free will? This was a joke...right? It was like the fantasy he’d had just a few minutes ago was coming true. There wasn’t anything in his pizza, was there? Weed or something? These are pot brownies. Pot pizza. Was there pot pizza?

Johnny either didn’t notice Peter mumbling pot pizza under his breath or he just knew him well enough to not question it. He continued, never one to let the conversation, no matter how one-sided, die.

“Not as hot as me, of course,” he boasted with a smirk. “No one is.”

“I…uh—what?” How can someone look so good frowning? He thought, followed by, Okay, out of line, Parker. He was pretty lost at this point, and didn’t need the part of his brain that was begging him to pay more attention to Johnny’s lips distracting him.

The boy in question nonchalantly leaned back onto the arm of the couch and threw his crossed ankles into Peter’s lap. “You just showed me your face. Remember? Your conventionally attractive face,” he said.

Right. Peter ran a hand through his mask-hair, subconsciously preening but only serving making it messier. He’d just revealed part of his super secret identity by accident. Parker luck at it’s finest.

Wait—did he just say conventionally attractive? Woah. He hadn’t heard that one before, at least not directed at him. That didn’t sound very heterosexual. Also, he did fanboy about Thor, like, a lot. But who was Peter to judge? Then again, Johnny had also mentioned once or twice that people don’t have to be gay to acknowledge and appreciate the faces of other men. Peter’s split second of hope fizzled out.

You know what? He thought with a huff. Fuck it. Things can’t get any worse.

Though his thoughts were irritated and generally exasperated with his own recklessness, his words came out apprehensive. Inside, though, a part of him embraced whatever was to come.

“My name is Peter,” he spoke, pulling at his sleeve.

Apparently, that was too smooth for his dorky self, and because the universe wanted him to fail, so he added on to his statement. “Parker. Like, as in, Parker is my last name. Oh, and I’m fifteen. Which...you probably already knew. Or maybe not, whatever. Uh. I’m Peter.”

Maybe the universe didn’t hate him after all, because Johnny didn’t laugh (out loud) at him. Instead, he smiled. The smile that showed when he was genuinely happy, like when his favorite song of the moment was playing full volume, or when the two of them were alone on a rooftop talking about whatever dumb thing. There was only a hint of a smirk in there, and Peter felt like there was a secret only the two of them knew. Which, there was, as of now.

“Hi, Peter.” He spoke softly, and his voice was like a candle melting, smooth and warm. Peter really wanted to kiss him.

There was no denying his crush on Johnny now. And Peter’s the king of denial, so.

Peter had a major dilemma. Like, very major. Soul-crushingly, world-endingly major. Truly the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

He had a crush on Johnny Storm.

Johnny Storm, his celebrity superhero BFF who was devastatingly handsome and knew it, and who made Peter crazy without even trying. Peter was having some not exactly platonic feelings for him, had been if he admitted it. It was as if the very purpose of the guy’s existence was to give Peter butterflies (could he say butterflies? It was more like angry geese thrashing around in his gut—not cute) and to make him blush as much as humanly possible. He was at a loss of what to do about it. Supervillains on the loose? Got it covered. Crush on a cute boy? Red alert, time to panic.

Just because he’d admitted he had a crush on Johnny didn't mean he would condone it. There were a million reasons and counting why he shouldn’t like Johnny in that way. For starters, Johnny was his best friend. His crime-fighting, world-saving best friend. It was all just too cliche; average, unnoticed teen with a not-so-average secret falls in love with his classically handsome and famous bestie. A rags to riches, underdog tale that was cheesy enough to be a low-budget movie aired on the Hallmark channel.

Secondly, it’s not like Johnny would ever like him back in that way. Johnny was drop dead gorgeous. Stunning, charming, incredible—everything that Peter just wasn’t. He went to parties with models and had every girl (and a substantial amount of guys) in the state of New York already planning the names of their children. He was sure spoken and admirable. Anybody could see that. Meanwhile, Peter was 5’10” of bony knees and messy hair, couldn’t even remember to wash his school gym clothes half the time, and was pretty sure the universe would tear at the seams if he was ever invited to a party. The kids at school mostly ignored him unless they were throwing insults his way. And sometimes he stuttered. Contrary to Johnny, Peter had little to no confidence and spent most of the day practically wearing his shoulders as earrings in an attempt to retract into himself and avoid being seen.

Behind the mask, though, he was different. Spider-Man was different. Spider-Man was sure in everything he did and spoke like he meant it. Spider-Man made gallant efforts to protect the city. Spider-Man got free hot dogs from that one cart on Woodhaven Boulevard. He was a vigilante, which some would use in a negative way, but he knew better. He wasn’t getting paid or becoming famous—he was a broke kid from Queens and most of his public recognition outside of Tumblr.com was negative, thanks to Jameson. No, Peter didn’t have an ulterior motive. Spider-Man was who he really was, and who he loved being.

But Peter Parker? Only the same person in technicality.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that Johnny was a boy. Peter had always somewhat known subconsciously that he liked boys in the same way he liked girls. He was pretty sure even his aunt knew, considering he can only keep the one big secret at a time. Like most things in his love life, however, he didn’t really know of it’s existence until it practically punched him in the face and he realized, Hey, maybe I like Zac Efron a little TOO much.

So, there. Peter was bisexual. It didn’t bother him that much—love is love, after all—but he wasn’t ‘out’ to anyone yet besides dropping some hints at MJ and he didn’t want anyone making a fuss out of it. Besides, he’d never had a boyfriend, so it was never that relevant. And judging by his social life, it wasn’t going to be any time soon.

The thing was, Johnny could have anyone. He was way out of Peter’s league, so he may as well stop dreaming now and quit while he was not quite ahead, but also not quite devoid of his dignity. What if he made a move on Johnny and was rejected? He would never forgive himself for adding that awkward level to their relationship. Guilt and the sting of refusal weren’t great emotions solo, and were worse together. Peter had enough on his plate without the addition to his guilt complex.

So that was settled; Peter would not act on his feelings for Johnny so as not to commit suicide by embarrassment. He’d just ignore his attraction until it inevitably lost it’s grip.

Apparently, that’s easier said than done.

It was warm. The sun had come out of hiding and was shining boldly on the streets, blindingly reflecting off of cars and making Spider-Man squint. He was out of school for the Friday because of a teacher work day or something of that variety, and May was working. An opportunity for a swing around the city to see what he could find.

As much as Peter loved who he was, what he did, he honestly would’ve preferred to spend the day in his nice, air conditioned bedroom with a season of Parks & Rec and some freezer-burned cookie dough ice cream. A break would do his sore muscles some good. But he’d made a commitment when he yanked these tights on and he wasn’t turning back now; superheros didn’t take days off. The heat made his spandex suit stick uncomfortably to his skin, but he tried his best to grit his teeth against the chafing and let his senses hone in on something else to keep going. His work was important. He was saving people’s lives! Protecting the city he loved! Nothing, not even the alluring, lumpy comfort of the twin bed he had waiting at home, could stop him from utilizing his abilities, gifts, for good. They would have to tear him away while he fought tooth and nail. He was Spider-Man, the infamous New York vigilante, and he had a job to—

hey man, bored af. want to hang?? The incoming text read. Johnny’s ringtone was the most attention-grabbing one. Purely coincidental.

omw man. Peter rerouted to the Baxter Building.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t all that committed after all. But hey, he’d been out for a few hours already! And nobody was going to rob a bank in the middle of the bright and sunny day.

...Hopefully.

Peter didn’t have time to worry about this. He had a cute boy...um, a friend to visit.

The two had exchanged numbers after an intense interrogation of Peter Parker’s life, a new discovery to Johnny, and they sometimes texted back and forth when Peter was bored in class or Johnny wasn’t busy keeping his Twitter feed lively. (“Public image is important, Spidey,” he’d preached one day. “Not all of us are content with being menaces.”) There was, of course, the occasional meme on Peter’s end and some swear words that Sue would not be happy with.

He thought of these conversations as he swung his way to Madison Avenue, for once in his life not being stopped by some petty thief or graffiting teens. He thought of the warm, tight feeling in his chest whenever he heard that ringtone that would be obnoxious if it didn’t mean Johnny. The way Johnny’s voice on the occasion that he called or FaceTimed Peter made him melt like warm butter to a knife. He certainly had Peter wrapped around his little finger.

Johnny had left his window open. He silently climbed his way in, practiced to the point where it was as natural as walking. The room was surprisingly similar to his, just generally larger and with a more tumblr-y and minimalist vibe to the decor. Peter didn’t even have decor, besides the odd picture of New York or a random band poster. He was immediately aware of the way the ceiling fan pushed humid air around the room and Sue’s voice calling something about her missing jacket. He was also immediately aware of the way Johnny’s soft shirt was pulled up to his ribs on one side, revealing the smooth skin on his torso.

If Peter stared, well...

The blond was spread out on his (significantly large) bed with one leg tucked under the other and his arms reaching out to the edge of his mattress. The pillows were strewn about the room, leaving only one thrown near the end. He didn’t bother to respond to Sue, and if he had heard Peter come in, he didn’t acknowledge it. He sighed and kicked a leg up.

Peter decided to break the silence and cleared his throat.

Johnny opened one clear blue eye and peered up at the maskless face to his right. A slow and steady grin appeared on his face, and Peter thought about the tumbling feeling in his gut when he looked at him like this; the light in his eyes so bright Peter feared he’d be blinded, his smile hotter and more fierce than any flame he could produce. There was an intensity to Johnny that he couldn’t describe and wouldn’t try to, though he deserved to have each and every sonnet in the world written about him. He was a deserving muse, after all.

Peter had it bad.

“You’re here,” Johnny spoke, and popped up into a sitting position. He beckoned Peter towards the spot beside him.

He watched Johnny’s tanned hand scrub through his hair, leaving the locks perfectly tussled in the “I just woke up but I’m still sexy” way. Peter remembered that he shouldn’t be thinking of Johnny in any context but platonic, but boy, was it tempting. Maybe he’d just indulge this one time...

No. That was about as reliable as every Monday morning when he tells Aunt May he needs just five more minutes and then he’ll get up. The walls around him suddenly seemed much more interesting. One of the otherwise cream walls had a lilac tint to it, and in the corner was a mirror surrounded by holiday lights in an imitation of the pictures he’d seen on Pinterest. It seemed just like Johnny and yet so alien; of course Johnny knew today’s fashions, but the room was rather feminine. How could he keep up his ladies’ man personality? Well, besides his sharp jawline and rough hands and piercing blue eyes and extensive knowledge of mechanics and….

Okay. So maybe Johnny didn’t have to worry about his masculinity. That’s one thing they didn’t have in common.

Think, Peter. How do normal people conversate? “So, how’s you going?” Oh my God. “I mean—I meant to say “how’s it going” and “how are you” and it just. Ahem. Yeah.”

Johnny snorted—really, perfect Johnny Storm snorted—and said, “Good. To both of them.”

Peter paused, because he’s an awkward human.

“Johnny, seriously, did you take my jacket again? Come here!”

Saved by the bell! Except the bell wasn’t really a bell, it was a Sue, shouting again about her jacket from somewhere down the hall, and that analogy didn’t actually make sense at all. He was too mixed up right now to think any longer on the correct usage of the title of a nineties show. Peter had never been more grateful that an authority figure was yelling at him.

Johnny sighed but still held a small smile, like he was exasperated only not really because he loved his sister. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched them until his socked toes touched the floor, pushing himself up and adjusting his shirt in the process much to Peter’s secret disappointment. Johnny rolled his shoulders and followed the sound of Sue’s voice.

Peter blinked where Johnny had just been. Good. Now he had time to think about how to be chill, which obviously wasn’t in his skill set.

There were times when having enhanced senses had it’s downsides. Sometimes, something small but noticeable, like the electricity of a storm rolling in or the faint smell of sour milk coming from who knows where, could make his nerves be on edge the rest of the day. His senses would dial themselves to eleven without Peter’s permission. Then, he couldn’t help but tune in to his neighbor’s Netflix show or some conversation near him. It’s not like he wanted it to happen; his neighbor mostly watched fish documentaries, and he did not need to know about that guy’s chronic Athlete’s Foot, but he was still getting used to his powers.

Today’s humidity made it one of those days. That’s why he couldn’t help but listen to Sue and Johnny’s argument.

Johnny’s feet made little whumps on the carpet as he approached Sue in the living room. She was pacing around, likely looking for said jacket, when she said, “So, what’s the situation with you two lovebirds in there? And my jacket.”

Oh. Before Peter could debate the morality of listening to the rest of the conversation, he had to. He couldn’t not listen to a conversation about himself. Especially when Sue had referred to him and Johnny as lovebirds, which they totally weren’t.

Johnny huffed. “Sue, don’t say “lovebirds”. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” he contended.

“I know, but you want him to be. We talked about this—a sister always knows.” Her paces paused. “Especially an invisible sister.”

“Have...have you been spying on us?” His voice pitched up at the end in clear distress.

Peter widened his eyes—at the spying thing, but also at the Sue-thinks-Johnny-wants-to-be-his-boyfriend thing, which he wished they’d hurry back to. They did.

“Not important. So answer me. What’s the situation?” Sue pressed. “And tell me where my jacket is!”

Peter could imagine Johnny’s glare through his tone. “He has a secret identity, Sue!” He chastised. “And I don’t...what do you mean, the situation?”

There was a moment that seemed to stretch much longer for Peter, where he supposed there was some whispering or gesturing going on, and he wondered if Johnny knew he had enhanced senses. Shouldn’t they be having the entire conversation like this?

He stopped wondering when Johnny spoke up again. “Look, Sue. I haven’t told him I like him and I’m not going to, okay?”

Oh. It took a moment for him to register. OH. Peter tensed all his muscles like he was afraid if he didn’t they would know he was listening to them, and pressed one hand to his chest.

“Why not?” Sue asked, exasperated.

“Sue, I told you! Because it’s not the right time yet,” he whisper-yelled, and Peter’s ears strained to listen.“I don’t want to make our friendship awkward if he doesn’t like me.”

“Oh my God, Johnny. Of course he likes you. Why wouldn’t he like you?” He could picture the eyeroll from where he sat, still with his hand pressing over his heart.

“I don’t know! He’s really cool, Sue. He’s a vigilante. That’s awesome,” Johnny explained, like being part of the Fan-freaking-tastic Four wasn’t awesome. “Besides that, he's cute, he's funny, and he's smart. You can't blame me for being cautious about my timing.” Peter was sure if he hadn't already been blushing, he would have turned red. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Peter wasn’t sure what kind of delusion Johnny was having to think Peter could ever not like him, but he didn’t understand it. He was Johnny Storm! Everyone likes him!

“You’re Johnny Storm! Everyone likes you....whether they should or not."

Exactly.

She continued. “Look, you’re handsome, you’re funny, you’re smart,” Johnny scoffed at that, “seriously, you are. Johnny, if you keep waiting for the right time, you’re never going to find it.” There was another pause, because it was seriously that dramatic, before she said, “Just like I’m never going to find that jacket you stole.”

“I know, Sue,” Johnny said, softer and not angry at all. “It’s just...I really want him to like me. But I don’t think he does. I drop hints at him all the time and he never reciprocates, ever! He’s not into me.”

No, Johnny! I’m just hopelessly oblivious! Peter’s muscles loosened as he listened to Johnny’s voice, which sounded oh-so sad and totally unlike him. He tried to remember any flirtatious comments, and thought back to all the times Johnny had complimented him or said something slightly racy. He thought Johnny did that with everyone, though. How was he supposed to know?

“Johnny,” Sue spoke up again, “you’re my little brother. Therefore it is my job to give you advice, and also to tell you when you’re being stupid.” Peter imagined her putting her hand on Johnny’s shoulder like Aunt May did when she was feeling extra maternal. “And right now, you’re being stupid. Tell him. You won’t regret it.”

He heard Johnny take a deep breath, and then say, “Okay, Sue. I will.” Peter would have awwed at how cute and sibling-y it was if he hadn’t been mildly panicking. Now what would he do? He wasn’t prepared for this! He hadn’t even had time to practice acting like a normal person because he’d eavesdropped the whole time. Did that mean Johnny was going to tell him like right now or later? That was kind of unclear. Okay, okay Peter. So you’ll just tell him you like him too! This is a good thing! But what if Johnny changed his mind in the time it took him to walk from the living room and to his bedroom? He probably wouldn’t—oh my God he’s coming like right now isn’t he but—

Johnny walked in the door.

“Peter? Are you okay?” He asked, sitting back on his side of the bed. Peter was still clutching his chest ridiculously, which he supposed could look concerning to someone who didn’t know he was having a crisis of sorts.

He gulped and forced himself to meet Johnny’s eyes, feeling a hot blush fill his face. “Um, yeah,” he said, totally unconvincing. He’d just have to wing it from here, because Johnny did not walk slow enough for him to script his words. “Hey, you know I have enhanced hearing...right?”

Johnny looked for all the world like a deer caught in headlights. His own blush crept up his chest. They stared at each other until Peter looked down to his boots and nodded, up and down and up and down until he looked like an uptight bobblehead. There they were, a deer and a bobblehead in the most awkward and confusing scene of all.

Johnny coughed. “Oh.” That single word was so deflated of any confidence he’d walked in with that Peter was sure his heart broke right then and there. “I’m...sorry, about that. And I understand that you don’t like me that way, it’s okay, really, and I promise I won’t make a move on you or anything—”

“Johnny.” Peter finally looked up from his shoes, seeing Johnny’s blue eyes looking too dejected, and knew he had to fix it. “Johnny, I like you too.”

And for that single moment, whatever higher power there was let him be as cool, dramatic, and romantic as he could ever dream. He pulled Johnny in for a kiss worthy of the big-screen. Mostly.

Peter held Johnny’s chin in one hand and his waist in the other, and he swore he could hear fireworks (which were really police sirens that he should’ve followed, damn it Peter!). They moved their lips in sync. It felt better than any other kiss he’d had, but really, the one in middle at that band competition wasn’t hard to beat. Still. It was amazing.

They broke apart, and Johnny gasped, and Peter swore this was a scene in Sixteen Candles or something else with Molly Ringwald, and it was SO. COOL.

So of course that’s when they heard a giggle from the doorway.

Peter turned his head so fast he probably got whiplash. Johnny just closed his eyes as Sue faded into view.

“Please tell me it’s not her,” he whispered.

“It’s her,” Peter said. He began raising his hand to cover his exposed face, but just dropped it in his lap. She already knew.

“I just came to get my jacket,” she innocently explained.

Peter looked at Johnny, who was now staring so hard at Pete’s nose that it looked like he was auditioning to be the new Cyclops. Sue just walked nonchalantly over to a chair in the corner of the room and picked up a fashionably-worn leather jacket, presumably The Jacket. She pulled it on, winked at Peter, and walked out of the room.

Peter looked between the door and Johnny a few times before pulling him right back into a kiss.

He wasn’t sure if this one was really better than the last or if he’d just never get used to the tingly feeling in his stomach. They accidentally knocked teeth once when they’d both tried to initiate some tongue action, but it was still literally the coolest thing Peter had ever done. Seriously, so cool.

Johnny pushed himself off of Peter once to ask, “Does this mean we’re boyfriends?” It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, and Peter grinned so wide he was sure he looked stupid.

“Sure,” he answered, and they kissed again.

“Wait.” Peter pulled back with wide eyes.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Did you actually take Sue’s jacket?”