Work Text:
“Peter?” Johnny said when he slipped into the apartment, locking the door behind him. “You home, or are you out engaging in the world’s weirdest emotional outlet still?”
There was a strangled noise from the bedroom, accompanied by the sound of something shattering.
“Pete?” Johnny called again, raising his eyebrows.
“Just give me a second!” Peter’s voice called.
Johnny put the keys on the hallway table and shrugged out of his jacket. He set the bag of takeout he’d brought down on the coffee table and lost his shoes, because if the evening went according to plan he’d be losing them soon anyway, and because it looked like Peter had actually vacuumed for once.
“You know I don’t care if you’re wearing clothes, right?” he said. “In fact, I kind of prefer it when you’re not.”
“Maybe a minute,” Peter continued on, heedless. Trust it to him to only hear the sound of his own voice. “An hour. A year – check back in with me in a year, okay, Sparky?”
“Uh, yeah, passing on that idea,” Johnny said. “You okay?”
“Wait, wait, Johnny, don’t –” Peter said, voice panicked, as Johnny opened the bedroom door. “Urgh.”
Peter was standing in the middle of the bedroom in only his Spider-Man tights. His hair was sticking up at all angles like he’d been running his hands through it – and, like a bolt of lightning, Johnny realized that Peter had a lot more hands than he was used to.
He had six of them, in fact.
Johnny couldn’t help it – as soon as he saw Peter, he started to laugh. He pointed at him and tried to get words out, but he couldn’t. All he could do was clutch at the doorframe with one hand, head thrown back with laughter, actual tears in his eyes.
“This isn’t funny!” Peter hissed, red-faced. He waved his hands around threateningly – all three sets of them. The middle left hand smacked into a picture frame and sent it tumbling from the shelf and Johnny started laughing all over again.
“Oh,” Johnny said, gasping for breath. “Oh, I beg to differ. This is – this is a lot. You know, I’ve always thought you were all hands…”
He broke off, snickering to himself as Peter groaned.
“Can you save the jokes maybe?” Peter said. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you were the one with six arms.”
“But I’m not the one with six arms,” Johnny pointed out gleefully. “And you are. So it’s funny.”
Peter made a gesture that might have been threatening if three of his hands hadn’t knocked together accidentally. Johnny started laughing all over again.
“Okay, okay,” he said. His gaze swept over Peter’s bare chest, eyeing the spots where the new arms sprouted from his sides, but also just appreciating the familiar sight, all Peter’s lean muscles on display, the angular shoulders and narrow waist, the long arms. All six long arms, with their strong hands and clever fingers. “How did this even happen? I only left you alone for a weekend.”
Peter muttered something.
“What was that?” Johnny said, raising his eyebrows. “Did you just say –”
“I ticked off a witch, okay!” Peter said, throwing all his arms akimbo.
Another picture frame suffered a fall and Peter cursed softly.
“Well,” Johnny said, after a beat. “That’s actually totally believable, with how out of your way you go to annoy people.”
“I saw Dr. Strange about it and he was completely unhelpful,” he said, pushing his hand – one of the original ones -- up into his hair. “He said I’ve got another 36 hours of this, nothing he can do, don’t let the door hit you on your way out. See if I help him wrangle mystical spiders out of his attic ever again.”
“A whole 36 hours, you poor baby,” Johnny said, snickering. A thought occurred to him and he stopped laughing, stepping forward and putting his own hands on Peter’s chest. “It doesn’t hurt, does it, Pete?”
Peter shook his head, circling Johnny’s wrists with his hands – the original set again, Johnny noticed. It seemed like those were the only pair of hands he felt totally comfortable using. He didn’t seem to know what to do with all the others.
“No, it’s just – I’m stuck here until it wears off and I keep knocking everything over. I can’t seem to get coordinated,” Peter sighed. “It’s just frustrating. Exasperating. Mortifying. Take your pick.”
Johnny nodded. He took a step back to look at Peter, taking it all in. Peter had always had really nice arms, long and tightly muscled. Nice arms to be wrapped up in, whether Peter was swinging them off the top of a skyscraper or holding him in the middle of the night. Strong arms. Safe arms. He’d always liked Peter’s arms, not to mention his hands, and now he had six of them.
It wasn’t Johnny’s fault that Peter’s six hands were giving him ideas; he was, by nature, an explorer.
“You know, the worst part is this isn’t even the first time this has happened to me,” Peter groaned. “It’s not even an original torment. You’d think I’d be better with six hands by now…”
“Maybe you just need a little,” Johnny paused, searching for the right word, “practice.”
“Practice?” Peter repeated, one set of hands in his hair, the other over his eyes and the third – he didn’t even seem to know where the third set was until he accidentally upended the lamp. Johnny made a face.
“Practice,” he repeated firmly, stepping back into Peter’s space. He took the last pair of hands in his own; Peter’s new hands matched his old, square palms, long fingers, but the skin was so soft. “So you’re a little more, what was your word … coordinated.”
He brought Peter’s hands to rest low at his own hips. It took Peter a moment to catch his meaning.
“No,” he said. “No, nope, not happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening,” Johnny said, trying to tug another pair of arms around him, shimmying a little against him.
“You can’t possibly be…” Peter hesitated. “Johnny, you can’t be turned on by this.”
Johnny tilted his head to the side. “Uh, have you met me?”
“I have six arms!” Peter exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Johnny said, waggling his eyebrows. “That’s six whole hands. Picture it, all the ways you could touch me – all the places you could touch me, all at once. You like touching me, right?”
He was teasing now, grinning, and he could see Peter’s hesitation waver, his gaze on Johnny’s neck. He raised a hand – one of the original set yet again, much to Johnny’s chagrin – to draw a line down it with one finger.
“Hot stuff…” Peter huffed, not quite a sigh. His finger trailed down to the neckline of Johnny’s t-shirt and hooked into it. Two hands rested feather light at Johnny’s waist. His body heat blazed at the edge of Johnny’s senses, both comforting and exciting.
He really wanted to be wrapped up in all of Peter’s arms already.
“I’ve never been with a guy with six hands before,” Johnny said. “I mean, three, sure –”
“Johnny,” Peter groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Twelve, that got a little confusing…” That got him a kiss, long and deep, enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Johnny broke it, dragged his lips across Peter’s cheek to whisper in his ear. “I think six is probably the perfect number.”
“Two is the perfect number,” Peter corrected. His original right hand caught Johnny by the chin, holding him still as he captured his mouth again. The last set of hands hovered inches from Johnny’s body, like he couldn’t decide where to put them. The heat of him prickled, anxious. Johnny kissed back long and deep, running his hands up and down Peter’s chest.
He let his hands heat up a little, trying to remind Peter -- see? You’re not the only weird one here.
“You really want to do this?” Peter said when they broke apart. His eyes were dark, his face intense. Johnny had seen that look a hundred times before and it still made him sigh with anticipation. “When I look like this? Really?”
“Now who’s the shallow one?” Johnny said. He let his hands wander down across Peter’s side towards where the middle set of arms started. The skin there was so soft; Peter shivered at his touch, groaning quietly. “The way I figure it, Pete, is that you can have a miserable 36 hours spent brooding around in the dark – woe is me! I’m a monster! In which case I might as well just go home and hang with Ben. Or…”
“Or?” Peter asked when Johnny paused.
Johnny ran his hand down the arm, appreciating the swell of the bicep, the smoothness of the skin there, Peter’s shaky exhale when he touched the inside of his elbow, tracing I ♥ Spidey down the inside of Peter’s forearm, looping the ‘y’ at his wrist. He smiled at him.
“Or you could stop worrying for five seconds and we could actually have some fun. So?” He pitched his voice low, singing, “Should I stay or should I --”
“Don’t,” Peter cut him off, shaking his head. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t,” Johnny promised. “You have thirty fingers. That’s kind of hot, Pete.”
He watched Peter swallow, the heat in his gaze at odds with the gentleness with which he kissed Johnny, once, twice, three times, little teasing presses of his mouth that left Johnny wanting so much more.
“I’m so all over the place,” Peter said softly, fingertips at Johnny’s jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to,” Johnny said. “I know a little something about control, right? We’re going to start slow. So slow. Okay, Spidey?”
Peter nodded, a dark blush on his face. Johnny kissed his cheek.
“Give me your hands,” he said. “Original set, please and thank you.”
Peter brought them up slowly and Johnny laced their fingers together. He squeezed.
“Okay,” Johnny said, electric all over. “Don’t let go. These hands stay on mine.”
“And the others?” Peter said, voice rough.
Johnny grinned and kissed him, everything in him singing when Peter’s response was to spin them around and hold their hands above their heads, pressed against the wall. Johnny strained against his grip a little, testing, satisfied when Peter didn’t budge.
“Middle left hand,” he said, lips brushing Peter’s. “On my waist. Push my shirt up a little.”
Slowly, Peter’s hand fell to his waist, slipping up under his shirt. His whole palm blazed against Johnny’s skin like a brand. His new hands were soft – no scars or calluses like the fingers twisted through Johnny’s.
“Touch me. That’s all you have to do this second, just touch me,” Johnny said, smiling at him. Peter’s hand began to move, sliding up Johnny’s side, fingers walking playfully back down. This could be easy, too, the way he could get Peter to take things easy on himself when he needed to. The way he could get Peter to relax. “This is kind of fun, right? Kind of like Twister.”
Peter huffed a little, not quite a laugh, and his touch took a turn for the ticklish, fingers swiping over Johnny’s ribs. “I don’t think we’ve played the same kind of Twister.”
“My version’s more fun. Yours probably involves men in animal costumes trying to kill you. Okay, all remaining hands, blue,” Johnny said, squeezing the hands holding his. “As in, blue like my jeans. Take them off.”
Peter fumbled for a second, coordination slipping – first all three of his free hands were just touching Johnny’s thighs, then he couldn’t seem to decide which pair was best suited for the job of unzipping Johnny’s jeans. Johnny waited him out, humming when Peter’s fingers brushed clumsily over his groin.
“Take it slow,” he reminded when Peter made a frustrated noise. He flexed his fingers in Peter’s iron grip. “You’ve got all day to get me naked.”
“This would be easier if these weren’t practically painted on,” Peter grumbled.
“Oh, right, like you’re complaining about my clothes,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes fondly when Peter muttered only when you’re wearing them. “Slow, Spidey. Slow.”
Finally the middle set of hands worked it out, fingers flicking open the button on his jeans. He unzipped Johnny’s fly achingly slow. Johnny had thought about suggesting Peter tear his clothes off – it was always a fun time when Peter indulged in his strength, expensive fabric ripping easy as tissue paper, the rush Johnny got out of suddenly being exposed, bare under Peter’s hot gaze – but that would have probably been asking too much of Peter right now -- Peter, always trying so hard to be careful, suddenly stuck with six hands that could bend iron like tinfoil instead of just the usual two.
This was good, too, Peter’s hands pushing under his jeans for a moment, palming Johnny’s hips possessively, fingers sliding over Johnny’s underwear. Then Peter hooked his thumbs in both waist bands and yanked Johnny’s jeans and his underwear down to his knees.
Johnny squeezed his hands appreciatively, opening his mouth for a kiss. He sucked on Peter’s tongue as he kicked off his pants. A pair of Peter’s palms skated their way up Johnny’s bare thighs, gripping him just under his ass.
“That’s better, right?” Johnny said, catching Peter’s bottom lip with his teeth. He was getting hard just from the full weight of Peter’s attention, the anticipation of what Peter was going to do to him, but this wasn’t about him. He bit down as Peter’s hand slid over his hip, letting his lip go with a pop. “Ah, ah, easy, Spidey.”
“I thought touching you was the whole point of this exercise,” Peter huffed, but his hand stilled. He squeezed the backs of Johnny’s thighs, fingers digging in, and Johnny shivered. One of Peter’s fingers drew little patterns on his stomach.
“Whose idea was this again?” Johnny asked, tilting his head as Peter’s lips continued down his jaw, towards his throat. Peter’s fingers squeezed his as he slid Johnny’s hands an inch higher up on the wall.
“Oh, definitely, definitely not mine. You’re so…” Peter trailed off, returning to Johnny’s mouth for a moment, soft kisses before he pulled back. He was all soft-eyed. It was one kind of rush to hear Peter tell him he was gorgeous; it was another to see Peter thinking it, to watch his throat work as he swallowed. “You drive me up the wall, just completely --”
He broke off with an embarrassed little laugh, and then Johnny was laughing too.
“Right back at you,” he said. “Peter, this is supposed to be about you and your hands.”
“I know, I know, I’m awful, I can’t take direction, I’ve heard it all before,” Peter said, still snickering. “Okay, Torch.”
The hands at the backs of Johnny’s thighs flexed again, the only warning he got before Peter dropped his hands and lifted him into the air. Johnny made a startled noise, winding his arms around Peter’s neck automatically.
“Pete?” he said as Peter took a few backwards steps. The last pair of his hands slipped behind them to hold Johnny’s ankles.
“Time for a change in scenery,” Peter said.
Half a dozen steps and then Peter toppled him unceremoniously down onto the bed – unmade, of course – and immediately joined him, four hands down on the mattress on either side of Johnny and the last two holding his legs apart on either side of Peter’s hips. It was like being caged; Johnny shivered pleasantly.
“You broke the rules,” he said, flexing his fingers.
“Yeah?” Peter said, grinning. He peeled Johnny’s shirt from him, two hands sweeping up Johnny’s sides while a third held him down, fingers splayed against Johnny’s stomach. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll tell Ben who really bribed the Moloids into wearing those Hulk fan club shirts,” Johnny said, laughing as Peter growled, pinning his wrists down with one set of hands and grabbing his hips with another. The last set let go of Johnny’s ankles and settled at his own waistband.
“You wouldn’t,” Peter said. “Actually, you would.”
“Uh-huh,” Johnny said. “Guess you’ll just have to make sure I don’t leave this bed.”
“If this gets too weird…” Peter began, beginning to peel off his tights.
“Peter? Please don’t take this as a challenge,” Johnny said. “But it’s not going to get too weird.”
“I love you, but please never tell me what’s making you smirk like that,” Peter said, squeezing Johnny’s hips. The bottom set of hands hooked themselves behind Johnny’s knees. “You good?”
“I’m great,” Johnny murmured. “You’re strong.”
“You knew that,” Peter admonished, soft.
“I know I knew it,” Johnny said. “I’m just taking the moment to appreciate it. Kiss me?”
“If I have to,” Peter said with a dramatic sigh, so Johnny ended up laughing into the kiss and ruining it.
“Get up,” he said. Peter didn’t move, chasing Johnny’s mouth instead, so Johnny had to mumble into the kiss as he kneed Peter in the side. “Come on, get up already.”
Peter finally gave in and shuffled back, sitting up against the headboard. He watched Johnny curiously as Johnny knelt next to him.
“Give me your hand,” Johnny said, gesturing impatiently.
“Do you have a preference?” Peter asked, quirking his eyebrows.
Johnny snickered and caught the top left in his own, bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of it first, then the palm, parting his lips just a little. He bit playfully at Peter’s wrist before he dropped that hand and grabbed the next, repeating his actions while Peter wrinkled his nose at him.
“You’re so weird,” he said as Johnny licked a striped up his palm and started to kiss his fingers one by one. “Who gets off on their boyfriend sprouting four extra arms?”
Johnny didn’t answer. Instead, he took two of Peter’s fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them for a long moment, lips sliding up and down, and then Peter sighed, a little shivery, and reached up to tug on Johnny's hair, taking his fingers from his mouth. He touched Johnny’s lips with them, tracing over his cupid’s bow, and then Johnny was being manhandled, flipped around so Peter was at his back, four hands skimming up his sides.
“Cheater,” Johnny accused.
“I thought you liked me in charge,” Peter said, kissing Johnny’s shoulder.
“I regret telling you that,” Johnny said as the middle set of hands skated teasingly up his thighs. “So much.”
“Hey, you know me.” The hands cupped his ass, squeezing. A wet finger dipped between his cheeks, rubbing at his hole. “I live to please. Spread ‘em for me, hot stuff.”
“Get on with the actual pleasing, would you?” Johnny said, laughing at the sight of Peter reaching out with one of the bottom set of arms to clumsily grab the lube from the bedside dresser drawer. “Sometime this century, please and thank you.”
“What happened to slow, huh?” Peter asked, tightening his hold on Johnny, slicking up his fingers. He could do so much at once with all his hands; Johnny closed his eyes and focused on the feeling, the heat of Peter behind him like thermal map. He shivered, never from cold.
“I said slow, not glacial,” Johnny said. “Come on already…”
But this had been the plan -- put Peter back in charge, get him in control of himself again by getting him in control of Johnny. Johnny was pretty sure it was working; the easiest way to get Peter to adjust to anything had always been to throw him into the deep end.
“I know how to finger you, thanks,” Peter snorted. His teasing was a little more tentative than usual, though, hesitant little touches.
“That’s what you think, huh?” Johnny hummed, willing himself to be patient, to let Peter work it out with himself.
“Stop baiting me,” Peter said.
“But you’re so easy to,” Johnny’s breath hitched as Peter slid a slick finger in, “bait.”
“Well, you’ve had a lot of practice,” Peter said. A hand slid down his stomach and another massaged his thigh. One held his ankle, thumb pressed to the knob of the bone. Johnny sighed. “More than almost anyone, except maybe Electro.”
“That’s what really gets me going,” he said. “Shop talk in bed. Peter, more.”
Peter’s finger slid almost all the way out before pushing back in, achingly slow. “What if I just want to do this, huh? For hours?” His grip on Johnny tightened, a pair of arms locked around Johnny’s chest and a set of hands tight around his hips. The hand at Johnny’s ankle drifted up his calf and still he was able to work a finger in and out of Johnny, not nearly enough. “Just hold you here?”
Johnny shuddered. “Peter. The Hulk threat is not idle.”
“You know I love when you’re mean,” Peter said, waggling his eyebrows when Johnny glanced over his shoulder. “It really lights my fire.”
He unwrapped one arm from around him to touch his jaw, keeping Johnny in place while he kissed him and finally, finally slid another finger into him. Johnny jerked and moaned when, after all the teasing, Peter immediately curled his fingers against his prostate.
“That’s good, hot stuff,” Peter said, stroking his thigh as he added a third finger. He nuzzled Johnny’s ear, sucking a kiss just behind it. “You’re so good to me. Can’t believe you’re letting me to do this.”
Johnny was about to say something about being pretty enthusiastic about it, actually, when Peter slid a slick palm around his cock and curled his fingers inside Johnny at the same time. He moaned, caught between pushing into Peter’s fist or back onto his fingers and unable to do either with the way Peter was holding his hips still.
“Oh, hey,” Peter said, sounding a little smug. “I think I’m getting the hang of multitasking.”
Peter pulled his fingers out and grabbed Johnny's hips, pulling them back and up, Peter’s careful hands the only thing keeping Johnny from tumbling gracelessly over. He arranged Johnny carefully, propped up on his elbows with his knees apart. Two hands landed on his ass, fingers digging in.
"Having fun?" Johnny asked him.
“Okay, I’m starting to see the appeal of the extra hands,” Peter murmured, palming Johnny’s back and petting his thighs as he spread his cheeks. Johnny laughed.
“See?” he said, voice hitching as Peter pushed his fingers back into him. “This is better than brooding all on your lonesome, right?”
A free hand snaked underneath to him to pinch a nipple in answer.
“The appeal from your perspective, that is,” Peter said, a smirk evident in his voice.
“Oh, sure, you’re not getting anything out of this at all,” Johnny said, rocking back against Peter’s fingers, caught between rolling his eyes and grinning.
He jumped a little as a new slick finger touched his rim where he was stretched around Peter’s other fingers. The touch was feather-light for a second, just rubbing before it slid in against the other hand’s. Johnny tried to look over his shoulder to see -- Peter, and Peter’s strong hands.
“I don’t think this is great for preventing carpal tunnel,” Peter said, thrusting his fingers shallowly. Johnny’s mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut. “But it’s a nice sight.”
“Should let me get all those mirrors I want,” Johnny murmured, biting his lip at the thought: watching Peter fuck him open on his fingers, six strong arms holding Johnny still for him. Maybe he could get some express delivered before the 36 hours were up. Or maybe Peter would let him record round two. “Peter…”
Peter pulled his fingers out; Johnny made to move, but Peter was faster, and the hands at his hips easily flipped Johnny over. Peter kissed him as soon Johnny was on his back, fierce and devouring. The bottom set of hands hooked themselves under Johnny’s knees, getting him spread out for Peter as he pushed three fingers back into Johnny, fucking him leisurely with them.
His original hands slid up Johnny’s arms, firm pressure that let Johnny feel the calluses on his palms, and tangled their fingers together again, pressing Johnny’s hands down against the mattress.
“Okay. These hands stay on yours, right?” he asked, his lighthearted tone at odds with the heat in his dark eyes. Johnny swallowed hard. He strained against Peter’s grip as hard as he could, but there was no give. If anything, Peter held his hands tighter.
“Uh-huh,” he said, breathless and heady.
He switched hands – the top right hand left Johnny’s grip, and the middle right hand took its place so Peter could stroke his knuckles against Johnny’s face. It was breaking the rules, technically, but Johnny was willing to let it slide. Not like Peter had ever been very good at following the law anyway.
“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” he said.
“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked, tracing Johnny’s cheekbone with his thumb.
“You,” Johnny murmured, and watched Peter smile before he added, eyebrows arched, “getting on with it already.”
“Thought this was about my hands, hot stuff,” Peter said, fighting and failing spectacularly to hide a smirk.
“It can be about your dick, too,” Johnny said, wishing shrugging wasn’t so awkward with Peter holding him down the way he was. He flicked his gaze down to Peter’s erection, then back up again, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Well, as I’ve handily established…” Peter said, pulling his fingers out, and Johnny groaned only mostly because of the joke. “You get what you want.”
Peter seemed to stumble again a little with his four free hands, fidgeting with three against Johnny’s body as he curled a slick hand around himself. He petted restlessly over Johnny’s thighs, grabbing his hips and then letting go. He seemed to move to throw Johnny’s legs over his shoulders, then hesitated. He bit his lip, frustration all over his face. His gaze dropped down to the new arms again, brows furrowing.
“Hey. Look at me,” Johnny said, squeezing his hands. Peter met his eyes. “It’s just me here, Pete. You can’t do anything wrong with me, right?”
The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up. “We had a five day long argument because I ordered from the wrong Thai place in June.”
Trust Peter to remember one five day long argument five months later.
“Well, that was important,” Johnny said. He leaned up, limited by Peter’s grip. “Hey, kiss me.”
Peter obliged.
“You’re not going to screw this up or hurt me,” Johnny whispered against his lips. “It’s just you and me. And we always work. Six arms or whatever.”
“Unless we’re ordering takeout,” Peter murmured back, smiling for real now.
“Like I said, unless it’s important,” Johnny said, kissing Peter one more time, quick and easy, Peter laughing quietly into it. His hands had stilled against Johnny’s skin, no longer restless, but not exactly filled with his usual confidence either. Luckily, Johnny had plans for Peter’s hands in spades. He brushed his nose against Peter’s. “Middle hands at my hips. Last set on my thighs. Spread me out and fuck me already.”
Slowly, Peter put his hands where Johnny told him. Johnny grinned up at him.
“See?” he said. “Just like Twister.”
Peter huffed a laugh. He started to guide himself in, one set of hands around Johnny’s hips and the other holding Johnny’s thighs spread wide. Johnny felt so pinned by him – by his hands, of course, all six of them on him, but by the weight of his gaze, too. Nobody else he’d ever met had a gaze as weighty and serious as Peter’s.
“That’s good,” Johnny gasped out as Peter eased into him slowly, fingers clenching and unclenching like he couldn’t choose how tight to grip. Maybe less sure of his strength in the newer hands. “That’s so good, Pete. You can hold me tighter, come on. You know how I like it.”
Some of the tension in Peter’s fingers eased. He groaned when he bottomed out, forehead briefly falling against Johnny’s.
“Good?” Johnny asked him quietly, savoring the stretch himself, Peter so hard inside him.
“Always,” Peter nodded against him, eyes fallen closed. “You’re so hot.”
“I’m taking pity on you here,” Johnny said softly, “and resisting the urge to make an obvious joke about who I am. One time deal.”
A hand slid up the back of Johnny’s thigh, soft and adoring. When Peter spoke, it was like he hadn’t even heard Johnny – or maybe he was just ignoring him. “I like being able to touch you all over.”
“Told you. You know what we make right now?” Johnny said, squeezing Peter’s hands. “The beast with eight hands.”
“That’s terrible,” Peter said, starting to move. He pressed his thumbs against Johnny’s hipbones. “You’re terrible.”
“Spider-Man, Spider-Man,” Johnny sang. “Does whatever a spider ca -- ah!”
“Can a spider do that?” Peter asked, smirking as he rammed back in deep, ten fingers digging into Johnny’s thighs. “And please don’t tell me about the time you had sex with the King of the Space Arachnids or anything else that’s going to ruin this for me.”
“He wasn’t an arachnid,” Johnny said, laughing when Peter had to shift awkwardly to get a hand over his mouth. Johnny kissed his palm, then licked it when Peter didn’t pull it away. He paid special attention to the space between Peter’s fingers until Peter slid three of them into his mouth, Johnny opening up eagerly for him.
“Well, this is a nice way to shut you up,” he hummed. Johnny bit at his fingers, not very hard, and then soothed over them with his tongue. He moaned when Peter spread his thighs a little wider, grinding deeper into him. This was the old Peter in bed again, utterly sure of himself. “I’m just going to narrate for you. Deeper, Peter! Harder, Peter! I never consorted with any space spiders, Peter!”
“You’re weirdly fixated on this,” Johnny mumbled around his fingers. He turned his face away so he could speak clearly. “Peter?”
“Yes, light of my life?”
“Harder.”
Peter gave him what he asked, fucking him hard enough to slam the headboard against the wall. Johnny let out a strangled cry that quickly dissolved into delighted laughter.
“Hope your jerk neighbor isn’t home,” he mumbled as the bed creaked ominously beneath them.
“Hey, come on, if you can get off on my having six arms, I can get off on the fact that I’m fucking a beautiful celebrity and Mr. Stole My Paper definitely isn’t,” Peter said, squeezing Johnny’s hands as he kissed him on the cheek, on the chin. “We all got our things.”
“That’s all I am to you, huh?” Johnny asked, gasping a little against Peter’s mouth. His fingers itched to grab onto Peter’s shoulders, rake his nails down his back, but Peter’s grip was steel. Johnny was completely pinned underneath him, held practically immobile by six strong hands. “Something to make other people jealous?”
“You know it,” Peter laughed, digging his fingers into Johnny’s thighs.
“If that’s the case…” Johnny said. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to moan obscenely loud.
Peter burst out laughing hysterically, hips stuttering while Johnny wailed, thrashing his head back and forth for cinematic effect, even if nobody but Peter was watching.
“Oh, Peter Parker, ohhhh!” he shouted, his best porn imitation, but then Peter grumbled something under his breath, gripped Johnny’s thighs harder and tilted his hips back and his fake moans quickly melted into real ones.
“Yeah,” Peter said, gasping a little himself, “that’s what I like to hear.”
The whole time, Peter touched him. Johnny didn’t know why he was surprised; Peter had always had a hard time keeping still. The hands at his hips slid up his sides, one sweeping over his stomach before he curled it around Johnny’s cock, even as the last set of hands kept Johnny’s thighs spread wide. Peter’s mouth over his own, the kiss demanding, Johnny’s mouth open under Peter’s.
It was so much, Peter’s hot mouth added to the hands all over him, and Peter thrusting deep inside him. The curl of Peter’s body heat in his own veins was unparalleled intimacy. Johnny had never felt so completely surrounded like this before.
He broke the kiss to tell Peter but found he couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but moan. Peter fumbled with his hands, sliding one into Johnny’s hair and raking his nails lightly against Johnny’s scalp before he palmed his face.
“That’s it, hot stuff,” Peter breathed into the space between them, groaning a little. “I got you. Man, do I have you.”
His fingers slipped from Johnny’s only to circle around Johnny’s wrists, twin steel shackles. Johnny shuddered, throwing his head back, so Peter mouthed at his throat.
“Pete,” he gasped.
“C’mon, Johnny, c’mon,” Peter urged, squeezing his wrists with just the tiniest fraction of his strength and then Johnny was gasping and coming all over his stomach, clenching down hard on Peter’s cock. Peter kissed him through it, all encompassing, licking and sucking, nipping at Johnny’s lower lip, hips still moving steadily.
Johnny sighed, ”Peter”, in his ear, his eyes fluttering shut. Then Peter let go of his hands.
For a second Johnny hadn’t even realized it had happened, head all hazy with pleasure, confused as to why his hands were no longer being pressed down against the mattress. Peter’s hands swept down his arms, adoring, over his ribs and down his sides.
Johnny opened his eyes to find Peter dark-eyed and intense, staring down at him like Johnny was the only thing in the world he could see. He’d seen that look on Peter’s face before, a hundred times, but it never failed to make him shiver, the full weight of Peter’s attention on him, Peter’s mind working a mile behind those furrowed brows.
It still surprised him when Peter moved, hands skating possessively over his legs, down his chest – it was hard for Johnny, suddenly, to keep track of which hand was where, because they all seemed to be everywhere all at once, the world spinning as Peter manhandled him up, pulling him into his lap, back down onto his cock. Johnny gasped, sensitive all over, at being filled again, at Peter’s hands around his hips, lifting him up only to slam him back down, fingers digging into his ass, his thighs, holding Johnny, bracketing him.
It was too much; Johnny closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. Peter became a map of heat against him, six palms blazing against Johnny’s body, moving all over, and the slick hot slide of his cock inside. Nothing but heat.
He was so close. Johnny could feel him.
He buried his fingers in Peter’s hair and urged him on, whispering Peter’s name in his ear. Peter’s fingers tightened. Johnny was going to have marks on him in six matching places. He bit his lip against the thrill.
When Peter came, it was with a rush of heat. Johnny felt everyone as heat, all the time, and everyone was a little different, each person unique, but nobody more so than Peter. Johnny had thought he’d understood what sparks flying felt like, but he hadn’t, not before the first time with Peter.
Peter collapsed against him, knocking them over, his face buried in the crook of Johnny’s neck. Johnny soaked up the heat of him like a cat in the sun, unable to help a satisfied hum. It was unparalleled intimacy, Peter’s heat in his veins, Peter still buried deep inside him.
“Hi,” he said, sliding his fingers through Peter’s sweaty hair again and again.
“Hey,” Peter mumbled against his throat, half a word and half a kiss. Johnny just pet his hair and tried not to feel too smug.
He was starting to feel just a little crushed under Peter when Peter’s hands uncurled, first from his waist, and then the middle set left his hips. He pulled out carefully, laying Johnny out on the bed. He pushed one hand into his hair, sighing, as he navigated the bed with the others.
Johnny rolled onto his side, flexing his stiff hands and laughing under his breath, smiling against Peter’s sheets. Peter laid down next to him, careful with his arms. Johnny circled his own wrist where Peter had held him, laughing, and then Peter was laughing too.
“Geez, hot stuff,” he said, breathless.
“Tell me about it,” Johnny said.
“Whoakay, wow,” Peter said, hand over his eyes. He reached out with two parallel arms to grab Johnny around the waist, pulling him on top of him. “I take back everything I’ve ever said about your mind.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Johnny said, stroking a hand down Peter’s middle right arm, that soft skin damp with sweat. “That was fun, right? We had fun?”
“Unbelievable.” Peter rolled his eyes, but he was still blushing, a grin tugging at his mouth. He’d left the last pair of hands at Johnny’s thighs, just caressing, long slow touches, fingers brushing the hollows of his knees.
“Yeah, it was pretty good for me too,” Johnny said, preening.
“You are unbelievable,” Peter said, starting to laugh. All his arms came up and around Johnny, holding him tight and rolling them both over onto their sides.
“If you think that was unbelievable, I have got to take you to some places I know in space,” Johnny said, tilting his head for a kiss. “And in Atlantic City.”
“You’re gonna kill me, hot stuff, you know that?” Peter said, meeting him soft and sweet. He always seemed like he was at home, afterwards. Like he was totally comfortable in his own skin, regardless of whether he had two arms or six. Johnny liked to think that he gave him that, a little. He didn’t know if it was true, but he liked the idea of it, that just being with him settled something in Peter, for as long as Peter could be settled.
Johnny closed his eyes and relaxed in Peter’s hold, enjoying the way the last set of hands still pet at him, the comfortable glow of Peter’s body heat, how nicely they fit together even with all the extra arms.
“Six arms,” Peter muttered, tightening his hold on Johnny with all of them. “Geez.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I had six arms?” Johnny asked, yawning.
“I’d have to think about it,” Peter said, words at odds with the circles one palm was rubbing down Johnny’s back.
“Uh-huh. That was hot, Pete,” he said, grinning when Peter tilted his head up to kiss Johnny’s forehead.
“Hot, huh,” he said, squeezing Johnny’s thigh. “Thank you for submitting your own performance review.”
The sunlight streaming in from Peter’s window was bright and warm, and Peter was so comfortable, arms locked tight around Johnny, just holding him. Johnny ducked his head and smothered his smile against Peter’s shoulder, one hand tucked beneath Peter’s middle right arm and his side, the other caught in one of Peter’s.
“So,” he said as a set of Peter’s hands started to wander. “Only 36 hours, huh?”