Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“—And did you see him, just standing there in the corner, looking like someone kicked his puppy? No, like he was the kicked puppy. I had to bring him over food and,” Peter paused to take a breath, his hands at the knot of his tie, and glanced at where Mary Jane had been standing last, hoping for help. She wasn’t there anymore. A flash of red hair drew his gaze towards the bedroom door.

“Did you just leave the room?” he asked, incredulous.

“No,” Mary Jane said, hip checking him away from the mirror. She sat down in front of the dresser and started to methodically remove the pins from her hair. “I left the room five minutes ago.”

Peter frowned. “I didn’t notice.”

“I know,” Mary Jane glanced up at him, her hairbrush poised. “And I wouldn’t be proud of that if I were you, tiger.”

Then she started brushing her hair in what Peter could have only described as an extremely pointed manner. She was wearing the kind of expression she got when he forgot to pick up something at the store even though she’d written it down and stuck the list on the fridge, or when she found out he’d let Mayday eat raw cookie dough again, which he maintained was fine because Aunt May had always let him lick the bowl when he’d been a kid and he’d never gotten sick.

It was probably the store thing.

“Anyway,” Peter said, rolling his eyes a little as he finally got the tie undone and started on his shirt. “My point is, I don’t understand why he won’t get some self-respect and leave her when he’s clearly miserable.”

Mary Jane’s chair scraped on the hardwood floor as she stood up and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of black satin. Peter ogled her long bare legs as she stepped out of it, gaze sliding up her thighs to the sway of her hips in her red panties as she gathered her dress up from the floor and – threw it at his face.

“Hey,” he said, catching it out of the air. “What was that for?”

“You’re impossible,” Mary Jane said, stepping into the bathroom.

“Well, I know you are, but what am I?” Peter shot back at her. He probably deserved the way she slammed the door.

He got changed into a pair of old boxers and an ESU t-shirt so well-loved it was barely hanging by a thread and went to check on May one last time – even though, when he thought about it, that was probably what Mary Jane had left to do mid-conversation. (So it wasn’t really a conversation when it was only him talking, but he maintained that she could have joined in at any time and agreed with him. Was a little marital support really asking so much?)

Satisfied that his daughter was fast asleep and not being held hostage by an old man in a chicken suit, he bent to kiss the top of her head and then headed silently back out into the hall.

Mary Jane was already lying in bed, looking at something on her phone. He slipped into bed beside her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head too.

“Love you,” he hummed, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“I know,” she said, reaching over to palm his cheek as she turned towards him. “I love you, too.”

“Thank goodness,” he said, pecking her on the lips. “I checked the books and we just can’t afford the divorce this year.”

“Funny man,” Mary Jane said wryly, stroking his cheek before she turned back to whatever it was she doing on her phone. Peter took a moment to just admire her: the sleek shine of her hair in the lamp light and her sharp collarbones, her face freshly washed and free of makeup. He also admired the way the strap of her negligee had slipped off her shoulder, the lacy trim leading into a delicate V that highlighted the curve of her breasts, and the thin, flimsy fabric that would have ripped easily even without spider-strength.

The way her mouth was pursed told him she was probably looking at accounts from the store, though. Things like potential bankruptcy tended to take her out of the mood that way. Peter sighed, mouthed ‘married life’ to himself, then rolled over and made himself comfortable.

He waited twenty seconds, and then he said, “I just don’t understand why he’s putting himself through this.”

Mary Jane made a wordless noise of rage and hit in in the shoulder with her phone.

“What?!” Peter demanded, sitting up in bed just in time to see Mary Jane roll over onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head. “What was that for?”

She sat up on her elbows, staring at him from under her pillow, her red hair mussed. “Can you hear yourself right now?”

“I know I can, can you?” Peter asked. “I’m trying to have a conversation with my wife!”

“Peter,” Mary Jane said very slowly, like she was talking to a child. Not their child. Some other, very annoying, incredibly stupid child. “You’re obsessed with Johnny Storm.”

“You think I’m what?” Peter said, bursting out laughing at the ridiculousness of her statement. Him, obsessed with Johnny Storm – nothing could be farther from the truth. How often did he even think about Johnny? Two, three, twelve times a day, maybe. That was barely anything at all. Okay, so maybe it was fifteen, twenty times, tops. Thirty, if the sun was shining particularly bright and the sky was that one shade of blue. “That’s not – I’ve never – that’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard in my life!”

Mary Jane rolled over so she was facing him, leaning on one elbow as she stuck a finger in his face.

“He’s all you’ve talked about since we left the party,” she said. She held up a second finger. “Actually, he was all you talked about at the party, too. I haven’t heard anything but Johnny Storm this, Johnny Storm that for hours.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said, although he was having a distressingly hard time coming up with something else he’d mentioned that evening, trying to prove her wrong. “I – I yelled at that guy who didn’t use his turn signal on the drive home.”

“Sweetie, your backseat driver road rage does not count,” Mary Jane said. “Will you please just admit it and make us both feel a lot better?”

“I can’t admit anything if I don’t understand what we’re talking about,” Peter pointed out.

“Johnny Storm,” Mary Jane said, enunciating his name painfully slow. “You’ve got a crush on him.”

For a second, the world seemed to tilt. Up was down, hot was cold, and Peter’s wife thought he had a crush on Johnny Storm, of all the people in all the gin joints in all the world.

“I – you – that is – what,” he said, flabbergasted. “That is completely absurd!”

“Is it?” Mary Jane asked, arching her eyebrows. “He’s all you’ve talked about all night. You ditched me at the party to go play waiter for him. And how many times in the past have I sat waiting up for you only to turn on the news and find you flying around with him?”

“First off, he was flying, I was swinging,” Peter said, intentionally missing the point in the hopes she’d get frustrated with him and drop the subject altogether. He could feel his face heating up and he had no idea why – the idea of him having a crush on Johnny Storm was the most bizarre thing Mary Jane had ever said, and first thing in the morning he was dragging her down to the Village so Strange could make sure she hadn’t been possessed by some incredibly stupid Cupid. “Second off -- !”

He had no second off. That was a problem. He worked his jaw silently for a moment before he grumbled, wordless.

“I’m not angry. I want you to know that,” Mary Jane said. “All I want is for you to admit it. Say, Mary Jane, honey, love of my life, I want to make steamy, passionate love to the Human Torch, probably in the backseat of one of his fancy little red cars.”

“I want to do no such thing!” Peter said, appalled.

“You’re obsessed with his relationship,” Mary Jane countered.

“That’s because it’s bad for him!” Peter said. “Because he’s miserable and he refuses to admit it! He’s fraudulently married to an alien, she lies to him about carrying their child twice, she forces him to burn down my alma mater – you don’t think I should have an opinion on him getting re-engaged to her?”

“ESU aside, what business is that of yours?” Mary Jane asked, voice rising. “He’s an adult, isn’t he? He can make his own choices, can’t he? Where do you come in in that?”

“I come in because I –” Peter shouted, then stopped, and shut his mouth with a click of teeth. He took a few deep breaths, carefully cataloguing what he’d been about to spit out in the Do Not Follow Up On box in his head, before he said, “This conversation is ridiculous. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed now. Good night, Mary Jane.”

Peter turned off the light, rolled over, and told himself to forget about it. It wasn’t important. He had a long day at work tomorrow and he needed just to let it go.

He had almost just succeeded when Mary Jane said, “Anyway, did you ever think I might want to sleep with him?”

Peter sat straight up in bed and turned on the bedside light. Mary Jane was still sitting up, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall, twin angry spots of color in her cheeks.

“You want to sleep with another man?” he demanded.

“Well, ideally you’d be there, too,” she said, scowling.

“Ideally?!” he repeated, throwing his hands up.

“You’re pushing your luck in that area right now, buddy,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Peter grabbed his pillow and, to be spiteful, the top blanket even as Mary Jane squawked and tried to grab for it.

“Well, don’t worry about sleeping with me tonight, sweetheart,” he said as he climbed out of bed. “I’ll be on the couch if you feel the need to confess any other burning desires.”

“Peter, wait, come back!” she said. “Think about your leg!”

Peter just harrumphed in his best J Jonah Jameson impression as he stalked out of the bedroom. Mary Jane didn’t follow him, not that he’d expected her to. He made up the couch and stretched out as best as he could on it, reminding himself that, when the budget allowed, they definitely needed a newer, bigger sofa. It was quiet in the living room, at least. In the calm silence, he could reach out with his spider-sense, the edges of his perception creeping along on a web of his own making, and he could feel Mary Jane, still furious, and May, still sleeping like a log. He wondered where she got that from.

As he pounded his pillow more out of frustration than necessity, he couldn’t help but play back Mary Jane’s words. Him, obsessed with Johnny Storm. That was ridiculous. They were just friends, that was all. He was allowed to be worried about a friend.

Obsessed with Johnny Storm. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard -- after Mary Jane saying she’d like to sleep with Johnny. Peter snorted, refusing to even dwell on the idea.

He gave his pillow one final violent thwack, rolled over, and closed his eyes.

Peter had been having a wonderful dream about tearing off Doc Ock’s arms and strangling him with them while Springsteen played live in the background when all of a sudden everything shifted. The music became sweet and romantic, carried on a soft, warm breeze. He was in a beautiful dimly lit room, and in the center of the room there was a bed hung with gauzy red curtains. Through those curtains he could just barely glimpse a pair of long, long legs.

Peter pushed the curtains aside eagerly, hoping for Mary Jane in some lacy lingerie, or better yet, nothing but whipped cream – but instead he found Johnny Storm naked in the middle of the bed. His hair was soft and tousled and his gaze was open and vulnerable, those full lips parted. His hand traced its way down one firmly muscled thigh, and his skin looked so smooth.

“Peter?” he said, questioningly, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

He smelled Mary Jane’s perfume as she stepped around him, wearing nothing more than a smile. She tossed him a wicked smile over one freckled shoulder as she climbed onto the bed, getting on top of Johnny. His gaze shifted away from Peter as Mary Jane touched his cheek and guided him into a passionate kiss, her hand sinking into his blond hair as she straddled him, and to Peter they seemed to blur, red and gold, mixing together.

Mary Jane rolled them over so Johnny’s back was to Peter, her hands sliding down his sides until she gripped his ass. Her painted red nails dug in as she parted his cheeks, baring him for Peter.

“Come on, tiger,” she purred at Peter. “I know how much you love this.”

And Johnny, gazing at Peter from over his shoulder with desire in those sky blue eyes, arched his back obscenely and, his breath hitching, said, “Peter, please."

Peter woke up as he hit the living room floor with a thump. He just lay there for a moment, stunned, even as there was a rustle from the bedroom and the sound of a door opening.

“Peter?” Mary Jane called drowsily. “You okay, honey?”

“Fine!” he called back, a little strangled. “Just – tripped over the coffee table. You go back to bed.”

There was a long pause, and then the bedroom door clicked shut again.

Peter sat up, palmed his raging erection, and recalled the dream image of Johnny and MJ, all twisted up together. He swore quietly at the ceiling.

The next day, he picked up Mary Jane’s favorite flowers on his lunch break and took them over to the boutique. She looked up when the bell above the door rang and instantly broke into that smile, Peter’s favorite smile, the one that said she thought he was ridiculous but she loved it anyway. Possibly because she was legally obligated to.

“Mr. Parker,” she said, leaning in to meet his kiss.

“Mrs. Parker,” he returned, passing her the flowers. Her smile only grew wider as she took them. They’d never really been good at staying angry with each other for very long, and they hadn’t gotten any better at it with age.

“They’re beautiful,” she said.

“No, you’re beautiful,” Peter said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “They’re an apology.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Mary Jane said, glancing up at him. “I pushed you.”

“You challenge me,” he said, chucking her under the chin. “Always have. It’s good for me. Usually.”

“And this time?” Mary Jane asked, looking a little guarded.

“This time,” Peter said, hedging a little. If he took this step, he knew, he couldn’t take it back. “I didn’t think so. Not at first.”

Mary Jane turned away from him, fussing a little with the flowers.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. “It was late. I was tired. You’ve known him for so long – sometimes I get jealous, I guess. But obviously I was wrong. You, in love with Johnny Storm – who would ever think something like that? Too much wine, that’s what it was.”

“Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” Peter asked. He waited until Mary Jane glanced over his shoulder at him before he continued, “You weren’t wrong.”

Mary Jane turned to face him properly, a light in her eyes.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew it!”

“Alright, alright,” Peter said. “Laugh it up while I’m having a crisis here.”

To her credit, Mary Jane only laughed for another minute before her face softened, and she leaned in towards him.

“Peter, don’t take this wrong way,” she said, “but you’ve had about five crises a week the entire time I’ve known you. How is this new?”

“You always come first in my book,” Peter told her. “I want you to know that.”

“Actually, I was hoping to make him come first,” Mary Jane said, grinning at him. Peter groaned.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said. “That was filthy. You’re a mother.”

“Hey,” Mary Jane said, flicking him on the forehead before winding her arms around his neck. “You’re my husband, and I love you. And if you want into this, then I want along for the ride.” She smiled innocently. “Besides, he’s got a cute butt.”

Peter thought about his dream, about Mary Jane’s hands on Johnny’s ass, and tilted his head to the side in consideration.

“Come on, tiger,” she said, smacking a kiss to the tip of his nose. She cupped his chin and shook his head from side to side, scratching at his stubble. “Live a little.”

“It’s not as simple as all that,” Peter confessed, glancing down at the counter. His fingers moved restlessly, dipping into the little dish of fashion jewelry rings lying by the register. He pulled one out, even though it barely fit on his little finger. “I’ve known Johnny more than half of my life. I care about him. About his wellbeing. I don’t want to just – just fuck him and run.”

His gut clenched at the thought, of doing that to Johnny, using him like that. Not when Johnny always felt so deeply. If Peter ever did that, it would break Johnny.

“Hey, don’t you think I know that?” Mary Jane asked softly. She touched Peter’s cheek and Peter closed his eyes as he turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm. “I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t know you, Peter. And I –” she swallowed abruptly, blinking hard. “He sat with me, you know? The entire time you were in surgery, after that last fight. He sat with me and held my hand.”

Peter hadn’t known that.

“He did that?” he said, his throat oddly tight at the idea – Mary Jane and Johnny, holding hands and waiting for news of him.

“The whole time,” she said. “And every time a doctor or a nurse would go by I’d tense up because I could swear they were going to stop and tell me that you – that you didn’t make it. And every time I did that, he’d squeeze my hand.” She held out her hand and Peter took it, twining their fingers together. “And I remember thinking that his hands were so warm, and about how much he loved you, and I thought if he and I could just sit together, and if he kept squeezing my hand – that you’d make it. Because we both loved you that much.” She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his. “Because I’ve always known he loved you, you know. As soon as I saw the way he looked at you without the mask on.”

“How does he look at me?” Peter said, even though he already knew. He’d just always tried to ignore it. It had never been the right time – there had always been someone else. He just hadn’t been ready to go there, not yet.

“Like you’re his sun in the sky,” Mary Jane said. “Like he needs you.”

“He’s the sun,” Peter said. “And you’re a star. And I’m just –”

“The best man either of us knows,” Mary Jane filled in for him. “Never think I look at you any other way. I know he doesn’t, either. And that day in the hospital – I loved him for that. For being there for you, and for being there for me, too.”

“If this works,” Peter said, clearing his throat against the sudden rush of emotion. “And that’s a pretty big if -- what are we going to tell May when she gets older?”

Mary Jane hummed, leaning back against the counter. “I figure, no matter what, it’s going to be easier than the “why does Daddy stick to walls” conversation, right?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Peter admitted grudgingly.

“And think of it this way,” Mary Jane said. “You know what a dream he is with May – we’ll basically be getting free babysitting.”

“You’re terrible,” Peter told her, tapping her on the nose.

“I think you mean brilliant. Hey, I know what you feel,” she said, taking his face between her hands. “And I know what I feel. And I’m pretty sure I know how he feels, too.” She brought his head so she could kiss the deep line between his eyebrows. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Peter said, and Mary Jane smiled at him.

“You should,” she said.

“How’d you get to be so smart, pretty girl?” he asked her, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Being married to you is like living on debate team,” Mary Jane replied, dry.

Peter scoffed. “You were never on debate team.”

“No, but I was absolutely the cutest Latveria to ever grace model UN,” Mary Jane said primly. “Talk to Johnny. Make him understand what we’re offering.”

“And what are we offering?” Peter asked her.

“A place in our lives, with us,” Mary Jane said. “All three of us, together. And the best sex he’s ever had.”

Peter snorted. “Hey, he’s the one who’s slept with aliens. All kinds of tentacles and stuff. You think you and I can stack up?”

“Please,” Mary Jane said. “The best the galaxy has to offer or the Mary Jane Watson-Parker experience. Which would you pick?”

“The Mary Jane Watson-Parker experience,” he confirmed, leaning in for a kiss. She met him, keeping it short and sweet, but he still took the moment to savor the softness of her lips and the scent of her perfume, now a little faded from the day. Wood smoke, with some brighter underneath. He loved that smell.

“Hey, tiger, don’t worry so much,” she said, stroking the nape of his neck with her thumb. “Aren’t I always right?”

The sun was shining when he stepped out of the boutique, and he had all of three minutes to get back to the Bugle before Jonah started shouting. Still, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it hard, his thumb hovering over Johnny’s name.

He pressed it. It went to voicemail.

“Hey, Johnny,” he said after Johnny’s rambling message had finished. There was nothing but warmth in his chest and butterflies in his stomach. “It’s Peter. I was wondering if you had time to meet up for lunch tomorrow?”

The first thing Johnny said when Peter found him sitting at their usual table at their usual diner was, “I have to talk to you about the bachelor party.”

“The what now?” Peter asked, shrugging off his jacket and taking his seat. He winced a little as he did so; he’d been trying hard not to let it slip to Mary Jane, but the night on the couch had bothered his leg more than he’d thought it would. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

“Because you’re throwing it?” Johnny said, his brow creased in confusion. There was a soda sitting in front of him, and a straw wrapper in his hands. He’d already torn it into little bits.

Peter raised an eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheek for a second to stop himself from saying like hell I am.

In his defense, in the past 48 hours, Mary Jane had told him she thought he was obsessed with Johnny, then claimed she wanted to sleep with him herself, and then to top it off Peter’s subconscious had agreed with her. To go from admitting that he wanted to be with Johnny, to be with Johnny and Mary Jane all together, in every sense of the world, and then to hear Johnny talk about his bachelor party for his upcoming wedding to a woman Peter couldn’t stand and couldn’t understand why Johnny was marrying was a little bit like getting hit in the face with ice water. Or punched in the nose by the Rhino. One or the other.

“Since when am I doing that?” he asked, careful to keep his voice measured as he picked up the menu. It was a ploy, an excuse not to look at Johnny for a second. He was going to order what he always ordered: matzo ball soup, a corned beef sandwich on rye, the hot open turkey with gravy, the deluxe burger with extra cheese, and then he’d wash it all down with coffee.

Spider-Man’s tights he might have hung up, but the appetite had stuck around.

Maybe he’d get moussaka, too, as long as Johnny was paying.

“Since Ben, you know,” Johnny said, shifting awkwardly as the waitress approached. “Went out to California.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Right.”

Johnny’s wedding was awkward for many reasons. Following his divorce from Sharon Ventura, Ben had abruptly taken off with Alicia – the real Alicia – to the golden state, just days after Johnny had announced his engagement publicly. When Peter had asked if those things had anything to do with each other, Johnny had gone tightlipped, and this was the most he’d spoken about it since.

“So,” Johnny said. “There’s really no one else to do it. I mean, I could ask Wyatt, I guess, but – I’m sorry, hi, are we ready?”

He directed the last part to the middle-aged waitress who’d approached their table, order pad in hand.

“We are,” Peter confirmed, listing off his usual long order. To her credit, she didn’t blink.

“Can I get a chef’s salad?” Johnny asked, passing his menu back.

“Will you order something more than a salad for once?” Peter asked, rolling his eyes. He didn’t know why he expected any different. He and Johnny had been coming to this place for years, and their orders had changed very little.

“Why bother? You always order enough for a whole football team,” Johnny said. “I’ll just steal off yours.”

Again, just like he always did. It suddenly struck Peter that it was sort of a couple-y thing to do. How often had Mary Jane ordered just an appetizer and then asked to try a bite of Peter’s entrée, only to end up eating half of it herself? It must have happened a hundred times. And here he and Johnny had been, doing the same thing for years.

Peter could picture it, suddenly. Reaching across the table and taking Johnny’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. Mary Jane, sitting next to Johnny, playfully trying to feed him a strawberry from her French toast. Peter tucking a hand at the small of his back as they left the restaurant, or Mary Jane linking her arms through both of theirs.

These realizations had always tended to smack him straight in the face, like when he’d just known he and Mary Jane had to give it another shot at getting married. It could work, he thought. It could really work.

“Anyway,” Johnny said, soldiering on as the waitress left. “The bachelor party. Cancel it.”

“Cancel – you want me to cancel the bachelor party I didn’t even know I was supposed to be throwing you until five minutes ago?” Peter said, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

“Yeah?” Johnny said. He ran his hand through his hair, which was unfairly distracting, and which Peter before the other night probably would have still been able to ignore. Johnny had always had great hair, even back when they were younger and he’d tried to tame its natural wave. “No, I mean – don’t plan it. Don’t plan anything, okay? I’m not having one.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to put an end to this whole charade,” Peter said.

Johnny shook his head. “It’s not like that, it’s just – she thinks we should do something private, for the wedding. Something small.”

“You already booked the venue,” Peter pointed out, and Johnny cringed again.

“Yes, thank you, Pete, I know that, and my wedding planner’s screaming enough,” Johnny said. “What I mean is, she wants it to be just, you know – us. Me and her.”

“To elope,” Peter filled in, eyes narrowing.

Johnny started giving a napkin the same treatment as the straw wrapper, shredding it into tiny little bits. Peter’s sandwich and soup and Johnny’s salad arrived, and Johnny waited until the waitress had left to say, “Not exactly.”

“To run away,” Peter said instead.

“Pete, please don’t,” Johnny said, a pleading note in his voice.

“Are you telling me I’m not going to be at your wedding?” Peter asked. “Again? And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course I want you there,” Johnny said. He added, in that tone that Peter was only just now recognizing as wistfulness, he added, “I always want you there.”

“But she doesn’t,” Peter said, flat.

Johnny cringed back, looking for all the world like he wanted to become one with the red vinyl upholstery. There was no more paper on the table left for him to shred, so he made a move to pick at his nails instead, and instinctively Peter’s hand shot out to cover his, stilling it.

“Peter?” Johnny said, looking up at him.

“Don’t,” Peter said. He gave Johnny’s hand a warning squeeze and then withdrew, busying himself with his sandwich. He watched surreptitiously as Johnny swallowed hard and wondered how many of these little moments he’d missed over the years. How many of them Mary Jane had noticed for him.

“It’s not just about you,” Johnny said, and Peter snorted around a mouthful of corned beef.

“Look me in the eye,” he said, after he swallowed, thumbing mustard from the corner of his mouth, “and tell me that again with a straight face this time.”

“Pete,” Johnny said, leaning forward. There was something wary in his face. “What are we talking about here? Really?”

Peter opened his mouth, and then shut it. He picked up his sandwich and chewed for a moment before he swallowed and washed it down, drinking the rest of his coffee cup like a shot. He needed the fortitude.

“I’ve asked you a hundred times,” he said. “Do you really want to get married?”

If Peter was being honest with himself, really, truly, terrifyingly honest – he’d never been comfortable with the idea of this wedding. He hadn’t even been happy about it back when the whole world, him and Johnny included, had thought that Lyja really was Alicia Masters, and Johnny had confessed to Peter on a rooftop that he was marrying her in a secret ceremony because they didn’t want the media to know. Johnny can’t get married, he remembered thinking, his chest uncomfortably tight. He’s my age. Who at my age gets married?

(He and Mary Jane had gotten married a whole whopping two months later.)

And after Johnny’s first wedding – well, the thing was, Peter hadn’t had to think of Johnny being married very much because it almost never seemed to come up. If he saw “Alicia”, it was once in a blue moon, at art galleries Mary Jane dragged him to and the occasional high society party Jonah couldn’t get any other photographer for. She’d moved by Johnny’s side like an afterthought, a footnote. Something easy for Peter’s gaze to pass over without a second thought, demure and somehow muted, nothing like the woman who used to command all Ben Grimm’s attention. Because the woman on Johnny’s arm wasn’t her, it turned out.

Then one day Peter had read about Johnny’s divorce in the society page, hunted him down to try and comfort him, and Johnny had confessed everything: the Skrull imposter he’d wed, how he’d had no idea, her apparent death, and how it had left Johnny with a terrible jumble of feelings he’d had no idea how to deal with.

Then the fire at Empire State University. Then Johnny’s arrest. Then his day in court. Then everything after. All Lyja’s doing.

Peter remembered too well that Christmas morning at the top of the Statue of Liberty, their usual tradition at the usual place, when Johnny had wistfully asked Spider-Man if he was married before laying everything out for him, all of the sordid details. “My wife turned out to be a Skrull, she died, she came back and tried to kill me. She was pregnant, she wasn’t pregnant.”

Peter had never liked lies involving children. In the wake of his daughter’s kidnapping, the engineered story of her death, he liked them even less.

“Of course I want to get married,” Johnny said, drawing him back to the present. He was frowning at Peter, wearing that one particular hang dog look. “I want to be in a relationship. A real one. I look at what you and Mary Jane have and – I want that.”

“Do you want to marry her?” Peter asked, carefully not saying, Mary Jane and I want you to have that, too. With us.

Johnny flinched.

“Not so loud,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

“What, are you afraid she’s following you now?” Peter asked. When Johnny didn’t reply, Peter swore under his breath. “Really, Johnny?”

“It’s just,” Johnny said, his voice lowered. “She’s done it before. Not for a while!” he rushed to add when Peter could feel himself start to glare. “I mean, I don’t think for a while, anyway. It’s hard to tell, you know, with the Skrull thing.”

“You don’t trust her not to follow you,” Peter said. “You don’t trust her not to spy on you when you’re out to lunch with a friend.”

A friend who wanted to bend Johnny over the nearest formica table, true, but Peter’s point was still valid. After all these years, nothing had really changed. Lyja had never really been Johnny’s lover. She’d always been a spy.

Johnny bit his lip and didn’t answer.

“Johnny,” Peter said. “Just answer me. Do you want to marry her? Really?”

“Please don’t ask me that,” Johnny said.

“I don’t know why you have to be so stubborn,” he said. “If you’re not happy, just – leave. Nobody’s making you go through with this.”

“Peter, I know this is hard for you to understand, because you’re like, the king of being married,” Johnny bit out, and Peter snorted derisively, “but some of us don’t have a lot in the way of options, okay? I’m not getting any younger, and I want – I want to be married. She and I, we were married before –”

“Yeah, I seriously doubt the legality of your secret Skrull marriage,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Were you actually happy? When you were married before?”

Johnny looked down at the table and didn’t answer.

“Look, just – Friday night,” Peter said. He waited until Johnny glanced back up at him before he continued. “Have dinner with me and Mary Jane. We can go to that French place you like, the one in the Village, do you remember?”

“I remember,” Johnny said, finally smiling. “How could I forget? It’s not every day you end up with the Vulture’s face in your soup. Okay, yeah. Dinner with you and MJ. That sounds nice.”

“Are you thinking about him?” Peter asked, his lips next to Mary Jane’s ear. He rolled his hips and Mary Jane moaned, her voice echoing in the shower stall. Her fingers skated down the door, seeking purchase, but Peter had her. He always had her. “Tell me what you’re thinking about, MJ.”

He wasn’t as steady at this as he used to be, lacking in the ability to balance on things like slick tile quite as well as he had before that last fight, but he could still fuck his wife in the shower without fear of slips. He slid his hand down her stomach, bracing her against him as his fingers circled her clit.

“His, mm, his eyes,” Mary Jane said. “They’re so pretty, and I’m thinking about the look on his face when, ah, you fuck him for the first time. Do you think he’s hotter than me, tiger?”

“Nobody,” Peter said, thrusting up into her, “is hotter than you.”

She laughed, that deep, throaty laugh he loved so much. He loved it even more when it had to war with the sound of her moans.

“I meant,” she gasped out, pushing back against him, “temperature-wise. Inside – do you think he’s hotter? Like a – oh – like a fever. Oh, Peter.”

“You close, baby?” he asked, even though he already knew. He could feel her, teetering on the brink of coming undone, and he palmed her breast, thumbing over her nipple as he said, “Think about it. How hot he’s going to be, all for us. How hot we’re going to get him. That hot tongue on you as I fill him up just like this. Come on, MJ. Think about him.”

Mary Jane came with a gasp, her breath fogging up the shower door as she clenched around Peter’s cock. Peter’s hand slid from her breast to her hip, squeezing tightly as she rode it out. He pulled out enough to tease, rubbing the head of his cock against her wetness, and Mary Jane’s forehead met the door with a dull thud.

“You’re bad, Mr. Parker,” she panted. He pushed aside her wet hair to kiss her throat.

“Only as bad as you, Mrs. Parker,” he said, pushing back into her in one long stroke.

He drove up into Mary Jane’s body, thinking about her and Johnny – her pressing him back against their bed and riding him, taking him deep, or MJ taking Johnny instead, her wearing a strap on and fucking him while he sucked Peter’s cock. He’d be so pretty, pink lips and blue eyes, blond curls askew, taking both of them so beautifully. He’d be even prettier with Peter’s come on his face, dripping pearly down his plush mouth.

He grunted as he came, dropping his forehead down against Mary Jane’s shoulder. He just breathed for a long moment, trying to adjust to it – thinking about someone else in addition to his wife while he was inside her. Knowing she was thinking about that someone else, too.

“Good girl, MJ,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

“Mm, not to so bad yourself, tiger,” she said as he slipped out of her. He carefully turned her so she could lean back against the shower door and he could take a moment to admire her, her red hair almost black with water, tendrils of it clinging to her breasts and freckled shoulders. Her eyes were still dark with desire.

“You with me?” she asked, reaching for him. He caught her hand in his own and cradled it to his cheek, turning his face to kiss her palm.

“Always,” he said. “You know that. I’m just – thinking.”

“About him?” she asked.

It felt different, admitting it now. When it was during sex, that was one thing. Johnny was beautiful, and that the thought of fucking him turned both of them on was maybe not so much of a surprise, but the feelings – the feelings were deeper, and they went a whole lot further than just sex.

“I’m thinking about holding him after,” Peter admitted. “Taking him into my arms and protecting him from all the big, bad stuff out there. Making him feel safe. After everything he’s been through – I want him to feel safe with me.”

“Well, you know something, handsome?” Mary Jane said, winding her arms around his neck and letting him hold her close. “You’re good at that.”

“Oh no,” Mary Jane said as they walked into the restaurant.

They were late, of course; even now that he’d hung up the tights, Peter couldn’t seem to shake that habit. Although the thirty-five minutes it had taken Mary Jane to decide between three identical, as far as Peter could tell, little black dresses hadn’t exactly helped, either.

Johnny was there already, seated at a lovely candlelit table – and he wasn’t alone. The woman next to him was a striking blonde in a slinky emerald dress, and Peter recognized her instantly as the person known to the press as Laura Green, the Human Torch’s fiancé, and to Johnny’s inner circle as one of the many faces Lyja wore.

Johnny had brought her with him. Peter could feel the scowl settling on his face even as Mary Jane repeatedly jabbed an elbow into his side.

“Okay, so new plan,” she whispered.

There wasn’t any time for a new plan, though – Johnny had already spotted them and was waving them over, one of his bright fake smiles pasted on his face. Peter felt the urge to snap at him that there weren’t any cameras pointed his way so he didn’t have to pretend so hard to be happy.

“Play nice,” Mary Jane warned in an undertone. “At least for right now. Hi, Johnny!”

“Hey, MJ,” Johnny said, getting up to press a kiss to her cheek. Something deep in Peter’s chest went warm at the comfortable way his hand settled against her back. “Pete. You guys are late. Again.”

“And I see you started without us,” Peter said. If this worked out, he realized, then he would be leaning in to kiss Johnny’s cheek too, or maybe turning his head at the last second so their lips met. Mary Jane might accuse him of cheating, wrap her hand around Johnny’s tie, and pull him in for a kiss of her own.

They’d look so good together, with her red hair and his blond, both of them model beautiful. Peter wanted to strip both of them down and photograph them together. The webbing was optional, but preferred.

He took a steadying breath as he pulled out a chair for Mary Jane. There’d be time for that later. Right now, he needed to think restaurant appropriate thoughts.

“Just drinks,” Johnny said. “I know how you hate a wine list. Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life?” Peter said, taking a seat. “Sure. With my dinner? No.”

“Jerk,” Johnny said, beaming fondly at him.

Lyja gave him a look. Johnny cringed when he caught it, and buried his face in his menu.

“What’s, uh,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. Peter prepared himself for gritting his teeth through a long night of this. “What’s everyone else getting? I was thinking of the chicken.”

“You got the chicken last time we were here,” Peter said absently, picking up his own menu. “You said you wished you’d gotten pasta instead, so get that.”

Johnny shot him a smile over the top of his menu, right up until Lyja said, sharply, “You’ve been here with him before?”

“Oh, uh,” Johnny said, looking caught off guard. “It was – it was a long time ago.” To Peter, he added, “I’m surprised you remembered what I ordered.”

“You know me,” Peter said, flat. “I have a good memory.”

Lyja was staring at him now. It was a considering look, like she realized there was something else going on here and recognized she didn’t have all the pieces to understand what. Peter met her gaze evenly. If it was a staring contest she wanted, she could bring it on. Surrender had never been in Peter’s vocabulary.

It was only when the waiter arrived to take their orders that Lyja looked away and Peter finally let his gaze drop down to his menu.

Mary Jane coughed delicately after the waiter left, rising to her feet.

“I’m just going to use the ladies room,” she said. And then she stood there, staring at Lyja.

Lyja didn’t seem to notice until Johnny pointedly cleared his throat.

“Oh!” she said. “Oh. The human female tradition of going to the bathroom together. I remember now, Susan used to insist when we were out.”

Back when she was pretending to be Alicia, Peter noticed she didn’t say, but he could do the math on that. He glanced at Johnny, but Johnny was staring down at his plate like he’d suddenly never seen anything more interesting in the world.

He only looked up when Lyja touched his cheek, guiding his chin up, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Peter couldn’t help but watch – it was chaste, as kisses went, but Johnny had suddenly gone stiff and still as a statue, motionless as she kissed him. Peter practically bristled, watching the possessive curl of her fingers at his jaw.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and Johnny’s smile was a funny, strained thing that Peter didn’t like watching.

“Don’t take too long,” he said, his voice deceptively light.

Peter waited until Mary Jane and Lyja were out of earshot before he leaned in.

“I didn’t invite her, you know,” Peter said, frowning.

“I thought it went without saying,” Johnny said. “You brought MJ.”

“That’s completely different,” Peter said.

“Uh, how?” Johnny asked, finally looking up. He had one eyebrow raised. “This is a date spot, Pete, in case you haven’t noticed. You brought your wife. I brought my fiancé.”

“Because my relationship is exactly the same as your,” Peter paused to grind his teeth for a second, remembering how stiff and still Johnny had gone with Lyja’s lips over his, “situation.”

“Oh, that’s really nice, Pete,” Johnny said, snorting. “Real mature. Look, I know you don’t like her, but could you just try and be civil?”

“I’m being perfectly civil.” Peter grabbed a roll from the basket in the middle of the table and set about aggressively buttering it. “I was just looking forward to a nice evening with you and Mary Jane and then I walk in and I see her sitting there. I didn’t exactly think she was my biggest fan either, considering I’ve been uninvited to your wedding. But I’m being civil.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Johnny said, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“I’m making a big deal out of this,” Peter hissed, abandoning his roll and leaning across the table, “because Mary Jane and I were going to ask you to have sex with us.”

Johnny spit out his wine, dropped his glass, and knocked over the wine bottle all at once.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been Peter’s best timing ever.

“No, no, I’m fine, I just – I’m fine,” Johnny stuttered as a waiter approached. He waited until the spilled bottle was taken away before he whirled on Peter and hissed, “What the hell?”

“I could have maybe phrased it more delicately than that,” Peter allowed, arms crossed over his chest and heat in his cheeks.

“You could’ve – are you possessed?” Johnny demanded, his voice hushed. “Is this a joke? Is there a camera hidden in that terrible tie?”

“Is there a – really?” Peter said. “I say my wife and I were going to ask you to sleep with us and that’s where your mind goes? Being Punk’d?”

“God, you’re so 2000,” Johnny said, but he was wide-eyed. Peter looked down and saw that his hands were trembling, but when he reached over to cover it with his own Johnny snatched it away like he’d been shocked. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Peter said. “Touch you?”

“I don’t, I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” Johnny stammered out. If anything, he looked paler. Peter longed with a sudden fierceness to pull him aside and hold him until he came back to himself, but Johnny had told him not to touch him, and so with incredible difficulty Peter planted his hands on his own thighs and kept them there.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “That water, the one by your elbow. Pick that up and drink it.”

Hand still shaking and water sloshing over the cuff his doubtlessly expensive shirt, Johnny did as he was told. He gulped down half his glass, and by the time he did his color looked a little better. His hand shook less as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“You and Mary Jane want to have sex with me,” he said, quietly, and then he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“What?” Peter said, frowning. “What does that have to do with –”

“Shut up!” Johnny hissed suddenly, looking at something over Peter’s shoulder. “Shut up, shut up, stop talking!”

Peter stopped talking. He glanced over and saw Mary Jane and Lyja making their way back towards their table.

“I stalled her for as long as I could,” Mary Jane whispered to him as she sat back down, disguising the move by kissing him on the cheek.

Lyja had stopped by Johnny’s chair, staring down at him with a critical expression in her eyes. Johnny, meanwhile, was studying the tablecloth like it was the most interesting thing that ever had existed. The line of his shoulders was still faintly trembling. Lyja’s gaze fell to the stained tablecloth.

Things happened in the blink of an eye: Lyja’s hand shot out to cup Johnny’s chin, turning his face up towards her, and Peter’s spider-sense blared like someone had shot at him. Only Mary Jane’s grounding hand on his thigh kept him to leaping out of his seat.

“You’re shaking,” Lyja assessed. Her nails were painted a metallic green, and they made Johnny’s pale skin look even clammier, turning his complexion sickly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Johnny said. “I just knocked over some wine. I’m fine.”

“You’re unwell,” Lyja declared. “I told you this was a mistake. You’re not recovered enough to go out right after going nova.”

Johnny flinched back away from her as Peter said, “Wait, when did you go nova?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Johnny said through gritted teeth.

“Five hours ago,” Lyja said, her voice clipped, as if she begrudged giving Peter any information. “There was trouble off-planet. I told him that attending tonight’s dinner was foolish in his condition.”

Peter had seen Johnny go nova a dozen times easily. Every time it was beautiful, like an exploding star – until it was over, and Johnny was left temporarily without fire, falling backwards, ashen and pale. He tended to be shaky and weak for hours afterward as his flame recovered.

“My condition –” Johnny started in an incredulous tone, just as Peter cut in with, “You went nova and you didn’t even tell me?!”

“Oh boy,” said Mary Jane in an undertone, reaching for her wine glass.

“It’s not a big deal,” Johnny hissed. “I’ve told you a dozen times already, I’m fine --”

“You are not,” Lyja declared. She made as if she was about to draw him from his seat. “You should be at home, with me, resting, not out with your –”

“With his what?” Peter cut in, even as Mary Jane frantically signaled ‘no’ at him by shaking her head as minutely as she could manage. Johnny whipped around to look at him, wide-eyed, and Peter took a deep breath. “Johnny, if you’re not feeling well…"

“Maybe,” Johnny said, voice rising, “maybe, and this is just a thought, but the guy who’s been exploding on the regular since he was sixteen knows whether or not he’s well enough to go out to dinner with friends!”

There was a long, still pause. Other conversations in the restaurant had also halted. Johnny looked furious and sullen, his hands clenched into fists.

“You’re making a scene,” Lyja accused after a moment. “People are staring at you.”

Johnny took a deep breath, and when he spoke next, his voice was tight and quiet.

“Please,” he said. “Can’t we just have a nice night?”

Slowly, after a minute’s consideration, Lyja sat back down. Johnny’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” he said.

“We’ll continue this discussion at home,” Lyja replied.

“Of course we will,” Johnny murmured into his water glass. After a second, he glanced at Peter, and there was something fiery in his gaze – but that was all it was. Just a glance.

His gaze fell back to the table, and there it stayed until the entrees arrived. He was quiet, too, barely joining in the conversation. Mary Jane shouldered the brunt of the conversational duties – Peter didn’t exactly feel like saying much, either – and even when she directed questions Johnny’s way, Lyja answered for him. It made Peter want to break the table in half.

He was beginning to realize what a spectacularly bad idea this entire night had been.

If the looks Mary Jane kept throwing him over the top of her glass said anything, she’d already figured out he’d messed up. Fix it, her eyebrows said. As if Peter knew how.

Still, he hadn’t spent all those years as Spider-Man finding solutions to the hard problems to back down from the challenge now. So what if most of those solutions had ended up being “hit the problem real hard.”

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I need to go call the sitter.”

He moved to the back of the restaurant, by the restrooms, and then he fished his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled to a familiar name in his contacts and pressed call.

A second later, across the room, Johnny reached for his phone. He frowned down at the screen, then looked back up. Peter made eye contact and shook his head. Slowly, Johnny put his phone away. He turned to Lyja and Peter could see his lips moving as he said, nobody.

“Hey,” he said, after Johnny’s voicemail greeting had ended, urging him to leave a message after the beep. “First I want to say that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring that on you like that. The heat of the moment got away from me and – heat of the moment. You see, it’s funny because you’re so damn -- Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Look, this is serious. Mary Jane and I, we’re really serious. And maybe this set up was a mistake, but we thought it would be romantic,” he paused. “And we want that. For you. To have something romantic. So if you want me to never speak of this again, that’s fine. It’s your call. But Mary Jane thinks together the three of us could have something really special, and I agree. Ball’s in your court, Johnny Storm. I’d say I love you, but you already know that.”

He lowered the phone and almost hung up before he raised it again. “And my favorite movie’s Arsenic and Old Lace, but you know that too, because you think it’s weird that I love a movie where the hero’s sweet little old aunts murder people.”

He hung up. Then he called the babysitter, because he said he was going to.

“Everything alright?” Mary Jane asked when he rejoined the table.

“Fine,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He looked at Johnny as he did and Johnny looked back. Peter nodded at him.

“Great,” Mary Jane said. “You should eat. Your food’s getting cold.”

At the end of the night, after they’d retrieved their coats and Peter had helped Mary Jane into hers, Johnny made a move like he was going to pull Peter in for a hug. When Peter took his hand in his own Johnny pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “Top of the Empire State Building. Midnight. Be there or I will set you on fire.”

Getting around on rooftops late at night wasn’t especially commonplace in Peter’s life since the accident that had made him hang up his webs, but he still did pretty well for a man with the proportional strength and speed of a radioactive spider who now engaged in a fair amount of coach surfing.

Johnny was already there and waiting. He’d ditched his jacket and his tie, and his shirt was disheveled. So was his hair. He was wearing a look on his face Peter had never seen before, one he didn’t know how to interpret.

“You’re late,” Johnny said.

“Well, these days, I actually have a pretty good excuse,” Peter said, gesturing at his leg. “Listen, I’m sorry. I messed up, I admit it. I didn’t mean to spring that on you like that.”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to – you told me you and MJ want to have sex with me!” Johnny said, throwing his hands up. “What was your big plan, then? Wine and dine me and then casually bring it up over dessert? Maybe during a little threeway stroll through the park? Hey, Johnny Storm, come back to our place and let us fuck you?”

Peter opened his mouth to object but that had, in fact, been their plan. He left his jaw hanging open a little too long because Johnny turned away from him with a huff and a muttered “unbelievable.”

“Okay!” Peter said, following after him. “Okay, this isn’t exactly my finest moment, but I’ve never done anything like this before, Johnny!”

“Anything like what?” Johnny said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “You mean you and Mary Jane aren’t inviting all your stupidly beautiful and interesting friends over for threesomes every weekend? What am I, your test run?”

“It’s not like that,” Peter said. “Would you just let me explain?”

Johnny’s eyes flashed with fire.

“Two minutes,” Johnny said. He held up his wrist and tapped at his expensive watch. “Go.”

Peter told him everything. About that night at the party, when he hadn’t even realized he’d been so focused on Johnny, and about the conversation he and Mary Jane had had, and about how he’d balked – at first. About the story Mary Jane had told him, Johnny holding her hand as they waited for him in the hospital after the fight that had cost him his leg. About the lunch he’d had with Johnny, and how he realized that, whatever they did, wherever they went with this, there was something more between them. And about how Johnny always reminded him of sunshine.

With each word, he watched that unreadable expression in Johnny’s eyes deepen, even as recognition sparked at specific memories – the party, holding Mary Jane’s hand that day in the hospital, that day at the diner. He didn’t smile, though. His lips never even twitched.

“That’s,” he said, breaking off with a little cough when Peter finished. He turned to furiously glare at a nearby patch of roof. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I really am, Johnny. I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this.”

“Anyway,” Johnny said, voice funny and rushed, “did you ever think I might not want to have sex with you?”

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” Peter said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

Johnny groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“You can’t do this to me,” he said. “This is like – this is fifteen years of built up sexual fantasies, okay, Pete? And – and –"

“And, what?” Peter urged gently, putting a hand on his back.

“You’re married,” Johnny said, flat.

“It was Mary Jane’s idea first, actually,” Peter admitted. “I believe I mentioned we both want you.”

“That’s – I mean, I love MJ, and she’s beautiful, but I,” Johnny continued, tripping over his words. He was blushing, fiercer than Peter had ever seen, and he thought, I did that. “It’s not that I – I’m not -- I’m engaged, Pete.”

“I know,” Peter said. “But you’re not happy.”

Johnny swore, turning away from him. He stood there for a moment, his shoulders trembling, and he flinched away when Peter reached out to touch him.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t – don’t touch me. I need a minute.”

The rejection of his touch felt like a physical thing; every inch of Peter’s palm painfully tingled with it. Johnny wasn’t burning but it was like he had plunged his hand into the fire anyway. Don’t touch me.

“Does she hurt you?” Peter demanded, sharper than he meant to.

“What?” Johnny said, letting out a harsh bark of laughter. “I’m the Human Torch, Peter. I light on fire. Nobody touches me if I don’t want them to.”

Peter had seen the way he’d gone statue still under Lyja’s touch in the restaurant, his skin pale as she gripped his chin, and the way she hadn’t seemed to notice when he didn’t kiss her back. He didn’t think that was true.

“My spider-sense went off,” Peter said from between gritted teeth, “when she touched you.”

“What does that mean?” Johnny asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “But I don’t like it.” He met Johnny’s eyes. “I don’t like when she touches you.”

Johnny bit his lip. He didn’t ask what that part meant, and Peter was both thankful and disappointed.

It was going too far, he knew, but he’d gone too far already, so he took one more step. It was the Parker way.

“You don’t like when she touches you,” he said. “I know that much. Tell me the truth, Johnny.”

Johnny shuddered.

“Johnny,” Peter said, soft.

“Why do you always have to see through me like this?” Johnny said around a sob, and Peter’s heart broke a little more.

“Oh, angel,” he said, coming up behind him and taking his shoulders in his hands. “It’s not hard. You’re pretty easy to see through, when somebody actually bothers to look.”

Johnny reached back and hit him, but not very hard. Peter dropped a chaste kiss to one clothed shoulder, then wrapped his arms around Johnny.

“Let me and Mary Jane fix it,” he said. “Let us treat you nice, make you feel good. We,” he swallowed, abrupt, “we don’t want this to be a one time thing, Johnny.”

Johnny twisted around in his arms, confusion in his eyes.

“You can’t – you can’t mean that, Peter,” he said. “You and Mary Jane – you have a whole life together. You have a child. You can’t just decide you want this. That you want me. I’m not – I’m not good enough for that.”

Peter was quiet for a long moment before he said, “I don’t think you know just how good you are. And I think a lot of people have put a lot of effort into keeping it that way.” He took Johnny by the arms, holding him tight. “And I think you’re about to marry one of them.”

“She doesn’t hurt me,” Johnny said, voice strange and stilted. He looked away. “Not like – not like that.” He swallowed hard and added, “Not since that day at ESU, when she made me – made me –”

“Go nova,” Peter said. “I know. I remember the fire.”

“I didn’t want to,” Johnny said, swallowing hard. “I – I thought she was going to kill me, that’s why I –”

Peter grabbed him up in a fierce hug before he could say anything else, one hand at the back and the other tangled in his hair.

“That was a long time ago, Johnny,” he said. “Nobody blames you for that.”

“Right,” Johnny said bitterly. He stayed stiff in Peter’s arms and, after a moment, Peter let him go.

“Did you listen to the message?” Peter asked. “The one I left you at the restaurant.”

Johnny swallowed hard and nodded.

“This isn’t me and Mary Jane looking for some fun, and you just being the prettiest guy we know,” Peter said. “Although, for the record, you are the prettiest guy we know. We want you, Johnny. Body,” he raised a hand to brush against his cheek, then pressed it to the center of his own chest, “and soul.”

Johnny sighed, his eyes drifting shut. His hand came up to cover Peter’s, his skin warm and soft, and Peter could have kissed him right there. Then, abruptly, Johnny broke away from him. He moved to rest against the wall, sinking down and pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Do you remember,” Johnny said, staring out into the distance with a strange look on his face, “our first trip to the Statue of Liberty?”

“Look,” Peter said, sitting down next to him, “I’m sorry it’s not easy for me to make it out to the old usual place anymore with my leg and all, but –”

“That’s not what I meant,” Johnny said. “I just – do you remember what we were doing that day?”

“Sure,” Peter said. “How do you forget your first stolen Da Vinci?”

Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

“I remember it like it was yesterday – me, innocent of all charges, you, struggling in my spider’s web – thanks for giving me a thing for blonds in bondage, by the way,” he said, and Johnny made a choking noise. Peter reached out to cover his hand, squeezing. “Just a note, not a suggestion, hot stuff. Listen, we’ve been through so much together. What’s one more big step?”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Johnny said dryly, glancing away. He didn’t move his hand, so Peter ran his thumb back and forth, back and forth, over his knuckles, until Johnny looked at him again. “If I say yes -- if, Peter – then what happens next?”

Chapter Text

“Thanks for agreeing to take Mayday for the night, Aunt Anna,” Peter said, bending to kiss her on the cheek.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter,” Anna said. “You know it’s always such a joy to have little May over.”

Peter tried not to cringe as the sound of something breaking echoed through the foyer.

“MJ and I will pay for that,” he said. “Whatever it was.”

“Children break things, Peter, it’s fine,” she said, waving his concerns aside. Her eyes twinkled from behind her glasses. “So, what are you and Mary Jane getting up to tonight that you didn’t want a three-year-old getting underfoot?”

Peter couldn’t exactly tell her, Mary Jane and I are inviting the Human Torch back to ours so we can seduce him into being the filling in a Parker sandwich. He hemmed and hawed for a second instead, his hand at the back of his neck.

“We’re… entertaining,” he settled on.

“Oh, how nice,” Anna said, so score one for him on keeping Mary Jane’s aunt from finding out her favorite niece was planning on them fucking Johnny Storm until he cried. Peter wasn’t the one who’d said that Johnny was so yummy, I just want to wreck him, quote-unquote. Not that he didn’t agree with the sentiment, but he wanted the record set straight. “Anyone I know?”

Peter thought about Johnny’s face on the cover of this month’s People, with the big splashy headline about his upcoming nuptials -- TORCH TAMED. He also thought about Anna’s subscription to People, probably lying out on the coffee table his daughter may or may not have just destroyed.

“Not especially,” he said, accidentally doing his best impression of a strangled weasel.

“Well, you have a lovely time,” Anna said, smiling up at him. “And don’t you worry at all about –” CRASH “—little May.”

Peter cringed.

“No, really,” he said. “We’ll pay for it.”

Mary Jane was setting up when he got home, and she’d done an amazing job. The front room was softly lit, wine and candles set out on the small dining room table, and there was music play from the other room, dreamy and romantic. She was wearing a black dress – his favorite of her little black dresses, the one that made her cleavage look even more incredible than usual.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, his hands falling to her waist.

“You’re not so bad yourself, tiger,” she said, lacing her hands over his. “Nervous?”

“Nervous?” he said, tugging her back against him and planting his chin on her shoulder. “About my wife and I seducing one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, who I’ve known and systematically tortured over our shared fifteen year superhero career, into a ménage a trois, and inviting him into our lives? Don’t be ridiculous. I do this every Thursday with my secret other family in New Jersey.”

“You’re nervous,” Mary Jane confirmed, turning in his arms and reaching up to touch his cheek. “It’s okay.”

“How about you?” Peter asked her. “Nervous?”

“About having a threeway with a beautiful celebrity?” Mary Jane said, smiling innocently at him. “Please, Peter. That was an average Saturday night back in my party days.”

“Ha, comma, ha, comma, ha,” said Peter, scowling.

Mary Jane patted his cheek. “You’ll do fine, first timer. Just be your usual charming self.”

Johnny was looking over his shoulder when Peter opened the door. He’d clearly tried to put himself together like he was expecting to get lucky on a hot date; tight black pants hugged his slim hips, and his shirt was soft-looking and open at the throat, his blond hair practically gleaming. But when he turned towards Peter his face was pale and drawn, and every line of his body radiated tension.

Peter began to wonder if he’d made a mistake.

“I, uh,” Johnny said, holding out a bouquet. “I brought flowers. If you, you know… like flowers.”

“They’re beautiful,” Mary Jane said, taking them from him. She stepped aside, tilting her head so her hair spilled invitingly over her bare freckled shoulder. “Won’t you come in, Johnny?”

Johnny stepped over the threshold with more hesitation than Peter had seen him display before jumping out of the Fantasticar. He looked around the living room with its candles and soft music like he was waiting for the invading force to crawl out from behind the couch -- and okay, the living room had seen better days, but come on, Peter had vacuumed.

“Hey, Johnny,” Peter said, reaching over to cup his cheek. He leaned in to kiss him – nothing too saucy, just a sweet peck hello – but Johnny turned his face to the side last second, and Peter’s lips glanced off his cheek instead. Up close, Johnny smelled like wood smoke and sun-warmed breeze, and it was almost but not quite enough to distract Peter from the tense lines of his shoulders.

Peter didn’t need to be an expert at reading the room to know that something was very wrong. Over Johnny’s shoulder, Peter traded a look with Mary Jane. They’d taken a wrong step somewhere, started off on the wrong foot. Peter knew that the rest of life wasn’t exactly like fighting a guy in a rubber goblin mask, but sometimes it felt like it, and he knew when he’d made a wrong move.

Luckily Peter was a master at recovering. His wife wasn’t half bad at it, either.

“Let’s get you a little more comfortable,” she said. She swayed into Johnny’s space, pushing his jacket from his shoulders with a murmured, “Peter, take this.”

He was supposed to be playing the part of the gentleman, so he even hung Johnny’s jacket neatly over the back of the couch instead of just dumping it somewhere. Johnny watched him do it with a little frown line between his brows. He looked like he was trying to put a puzzle together and couldn’t find a key piece.

Peter wondered if taking his pants off would help.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked instead. The little frown line deepened. “Drinks? Food? We probably have food.”

“We definitely have food,” Mary Jane corrected fondly. “But I haven’t gotten my hello kiss yet.”

Oh, Peter had forgotten. For ages now, whenever they saw each other, Johnny always leaned in and kissed Mary Jane on the cheek, much to her delight. Peter was pretty sure they’d started doing it to annoy him, but he’d never minded, not really. He’d only ever pretended to roll his eyes.

Mary Jane stepped into Johnny’s space again, running a finger along his jaw before tucking her knuckles beneath his chin. She was taller than him in her high heels, so she had to tilt her head to kiss him, her lips brushing against the corner of Johnny’s lips. Peter’s throat went dry as he watched them.

Then Johnny stepped backwards, his hands coming up between himself and Mary Jane as if to ward her off. There was pure panic written all over his face.

“I can’t!” Johnny said, tearing himself away from Mary Jane like he’d been burned. “I can’t – I can’t do this. I thought I could and I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The music was still playing softly in the background, but all Peter could hear was a ringing silence. Mary Jane stood frozen with her hand still lifted halfway to Johnny’s face, her brows knit together. Johnny looked – Peter thought at first glance that Johnny look mortified, but after a second he realized it wasn’t embarrassment on his face.

It was terror. Johnny masked it quickly, but Peter had known him a long time, and he knew what real fear looked like when he saw it on him.

“Johnny, what’s going on?” Peter asked.

“You’re asking me that?” Johnny said. He sank down onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. “You’re the one who invited me over to sleep with you and your insanely hot wife.” He took a deep breath, rubbing at his face. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

He said something under his breath, so quietly that Peter didn’t quite hear him – but he thought it might have been she’ll kill me if she finds out. Peter was no stranger to hyperbole, but something about the way Johnny looked, how pale he was and the way his shoulders trembled ever so slightly, made him think that Johnny wasn’t kidding.

He knew that Johnny was scared of Lyja. He just wasn’t sure if that was all that was going on.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Jane said, sitting down next to Johnny, carefully not touching him. “We’ve been pushing you, and we shouldn’t have done that. We don’t have to do anything tonight – or ever, if you don’t want. We can just talk. We want you to be able to talk to us, even if nothing else happens.”

Johnny laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“You have no idea how much I want this,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”

Mary Jane reached over and picked up one of Johnny’s hands in both of her own, pressing her lips to the back of it. “Why does that scare you? We’re all here together. We all want this.”

Johnny raised his head, and the pain on his face nearly bowled Peter over. He found himself having to consciously relax his hands so he didn’t permanently dent the furniture.

“Because I’m scared it’s not real,” Johnny said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s real,” Mary Jane said, kissing Johnny’s hand again. “We’re real.”

Johnny’s mouth tightened, his lips bloodless. It reminded Peter of the look he’d worn that day he’d been arrested, quiet and resigned, and he remembered how desperate and scared Johnny had been that day at the courthouse, when he’d spotted the Skrulls in the crowd. How he’d run for his life. The long hours Peter had spent swinging around in the rain, trying to catch a glimpse of him. He could have helped him, he knew, if only Johnny had come to him. To Spider-Man.

Suddenly, Peter knew exactly what to say.

“Look at me,” he said. Johnny shook his head – probably, Peter realized, afraid of what he would see. Afraid it wouldn’t be Peter. Afraid that none of this was real. He took Johnny by the chin, turning his face towards him, but Johnny’s gaze stayed stubbornly averted. “Johnny, I mean it.”

Slowly, Johnny raised his eyes until he was staring into Peter’s eyes.

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter said.

Johnny looked confused. “Okay, seriously, did I accidentally trip into an alternate universe? I’ve known that for years, Pete.”

“Did you tell her?” Peter asked.

“No, of course not!” Johnny said, wrenching himself away from Peter. There were sparks deep in his blue eyes. “How could you think I would betray your trust like that?”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Peter said. He took Johnny’s hand this time, twining their fingers together. Johnny’s gaze fell to their joined hands, seemingly transfixed. He didn’t look up even when Peter brushed a lock of his hair back. “I’m Spider-Man. There’s your proof. It’s really me. It’s really me and I really love you.”

Johnny glanced back up, and then he surged forward, his lips meeting Peter’s for the very first time. There was nothing soft or gentle about it, nothing sweet or restrained. Johnny kissed like he was drowning, like he was on fire, like he thought Peter was the only person who could save him.

It was pure fireworks.

Johnny gasped when they broke apart, his hands fisted in Peter’s shirt. Peter just let him breathe for a moment, and then he brought him into a second kiss, and a third.

“It’s not her,” he said, putting his forehead down against Johnny’s. “You want to play twenty questions? We’ll play twenty questions all night long if that’s what you need, hot stuff. But this is me and Mary Jane. We’re here and we’re real.”

Johnny’s eyes had fluttered shut, but Peter kept his open, cataloguing the flush on his cheeks and the tremble of his breath.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

Johnny’s eyes blinked open, the emotion in them electric and painfully raw. “That was perfect.”

“And we want you,” Mary Jane said, coming up behind Johnny. She pressed herself up against his back, hooking her chin over his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. “All of you. Stop hogging him, Peter.”

Peter turned Johnny around in his arms and watched as Mary Jane palmed his cheek and pressed her lips to his, slow and sensual.

“It’s okay,” she murmured against Johnny’s lips, her hand sliding up his chest to hook around the back of his neck. Her thumb moved in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, Johnny. Do you want us?”

“Yes,” Johnny whispered. “Do you know how long I – yes, yes, I want you. You have no idea how much I want you.”

“Then I think we should take this into the bedroom,” Mary Jane said, and Johnny nodded, looking dazed. Mary Jane smiled and, in a move Peter had pulled on her many times, chucked her knuckles beneath Johnny’s chin and tilted his head up. She planted the softest of kisses on the tip of his nose. “Okay then.”

She rose, every line of her fluid. Mary Jane made everything she did look like it should be an editorial in a fashion magazine – from the rolled cuffs of her jeans and her bare feet on the old kitchen linoleum on a lazy Sunday evening to her standing silhouetted by the sun, laughing on the occasional trip to the beach. She was no different tonight, standing in the living room with her tight skirt riding up, revealing the bare smattering of freckles on her thighs. She could have walked right off a billboard.

And Johnny – Peter wasn’t in the habit of comparing anyone to Mary Jane, but Johnny with his deep blue eyes and his ruffled curls, that bright red blush on his cheeks and the way he’d caught his lower lip between his teeth? Johnny could more than hold his own. They looked perfect together, a gorgeous matched set. Peter’s fingers itched for a camera.

He could put his hands to a better use.

“Johnny,” Peter said. He waited until Johnny turned to face him and then he swept him up into his arms.

“Oof,” Johnny said, winding his arms around his neck. He stared down at Peter questioningly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Carrying you into the bedroom,” Peter said.

“Oh,” Johnny said, sounding a little dazed. He swallowed. “Well. Okay, then.”

“If you two don’t hurry up,” Mary Jane called, “I’ll start without you.”

“That,” Peter said, hefting Johnny higher, “is not an idle threat. A pretty good show, but not an idle threat. Shall we?”

Johnny stared at him for a moment and then, with a tiny little smile, he went limp in Peter’s arms. He tilted his head back as he flung one hand over his eyes, the perfect picture of a fainting movie star.

“Take me to your boudoir, you stallion,” he said in a throaty voice.

Peter laughed so hard he almost dropped him. If anyone ever asked he’d tell them it was because of the way Johnny had pronounced ‘boudoir’ but really it was just the sheer relief of hearing Johnny sound like himself again.

How long had it actually been since Peter had last seen him carefree and happy? Too long. They were going to change that, him and Mary Jane.

The bedroom, for once, was immaculate. No sheets dragged halfway off the bed (Mary Jane’s fault) or underwear left on the floor (Peter’s), and no mysteriously sticky toddler toys just waiting for someone without a spider-sense to trip on. Peter had dusted earlier, and even made the bed. Mary Jane had taken one look at it and done it over again. The lights were dimmed and the bed looked soft and inviting; Peter couldn’t wait to be in it with Mary Jane and Johnny.

Johnny snapped his fingers and the unlit candles lying on the dresser all sprang to life, filling the room with a warm glow.

“Cute trick,” Peter told him, setting him down on the bed.

He expected Johnny to fire back with some joke or line, but instead he just tipped his head up to look at Peter, a pink blush and a pleased smile on his face

“You really like it?” he asked, his voice painfully sincere. He was still looking at Peter like he was the one who’d done something special, like he was the one who’d lit a fire with a snap of his fingers.

“I love it,” Peter said, cupping Johnny’s face in his hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips so he didn’t say, I love you. “I’m never buying matches ever again. You’re saving me a small fortune.”

Johnny laughed softly, his fluttering eyelashes glinting gold in the candlelight. He was so beautiful. Peter simultaneously couldn’t believe he was here now in his bed and that he had waited so long to make this happen. What would Johnny have said if they had approached him about this a year ago? Three? Five? What had Peter been doing five years ago that was more important than this? Probably something stupid and life-threatening.

He had to kiss Johnny again before he thought about it too much and drove himself crazy. The noises Johnny made deep in his throat as Peter licked into his mouth drove him crazy in a much better way.

The mattress dipped as Mary Jane climbed up onto the bed on Johnny’s other side. Her arms came around them, her hand resting just softly at the back of Peter’s neck.

There was soft humor in her voice as she said, “You never learned to share, did you, tiger?”

“I’m an only child,” Peter murmured as the kiss broke. He pressed his lips against Johnny’s high cheekbone, continuing, “Don’t blame me. I asked Uncle Ben for a little sister.”

“Well,” Mary Jane said, reaching over and turning Johnny’s face towards her. “We don’t have that problem, do we, Johnny?”

Then they were kissing. Peter leaned back a little to watch; they really were a sight to behold. Mary Jane kissed with passion, like she was hungry for it; underneath her, Johnny surrendered, his whole body gone loose and pliant. Peter leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Johnny’s waist before he could slip right off the bed.

“What do you want us to do to you?” Mary Jane asked Johnny, trailing one finger gently down his cheek.

Peter held him flush against himself, Johnny’s back to his chest, as Mary Jane bent to kiss him, soft and sweet at first and then wet and filthy, Mary Jane clearly in control. Peter felt a fierce surge of pride alongside his arousal – that was his girl, making him proud.

Johnny was panting when she broke away, pink blush spread down his throat and lips red from Mary Jane’s lipstick. Mary Jane tipped his chin up.

“Well?” she asked, low and sultry. “What do you want, Mr. Storm?”

Johnny swallowed hard before he answered, “Anything you want to do to me.”

Mary Jane laughed. Peter loved how throaty she always sounded when she laughed, and how the sound of her laugh made Johnny shiver against him.

“That’s a good answer,” she said, stealing another kiss. “He’s so sweet. Don’t you think he’s just the sweetest, Peter?”

“So sweet,” Peter said, kissing Johnny’s neck. His hand slipped from his stomach down to trace the bulge in Johnny’s tight slacks, and Johnny threw his head back with a nearly silent sound. Peter squeezed lightly. “Like liquid sunshine.”

“Peter,” Johnny moaned.

“Yes, Johnny?” Peter asked, undoing the button and starting on the zipper, pulling it down ever so slowly.

Mary Jane joined him in undressing Johnny, her long fingers expertly working on the buttons of his shirt, nails flashing against the pale blue fabric. She slipped a hand into his shirt to play with one of his nipples and Johnny made a quiet noise, his lip caught between his teeth. Peter, eager to see, drew the shirt away from Johnny’s shoulder, revealing his chest. Mary Jane’s red nails were bright against his pale skin.

“Think he might be a little overcome, tiger,” Mary Jane said. Her hand fell to cover Peter’s as he drew Johnny’s cock from his slacks. “That was code for more, right?”

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Peter told Johnny, tracing the shape of his hard cock. He wrapped a hand around him and Johnny let out a choked cry. “Why’s everything about you so pretty?”

“Luck of the draw,” Johnny gasped, his head falling back onto Peter’s shoulder. His eyes were shut. “Don’t hate me ‘cause -- because I’m beautiful.”

“I think if there’s one thing that’s clear right now, it’s that I definitely don’t hate beautiful people,” Peter murmured, focused on the slide of his hand against Johnny’s impossibly soft, hot skin. He felt so good just like this, just wrapped up in Peter’s arms. All Peter wanted to do was make him feel good.

“I want Peter to fuck you,” Mary Jane said. Johnny groaned out loud, twisting to look at Peter, wide-eyed like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Peter almost couldn’t believe it, either.

He cupped his hand to Johnny’s face and kissed him, keeping it gentle. There would be time to be rough later, if that was something Johnny was into.

“I want that, too,” he said.

Johnny visibly swallowed, and then he nodded.

“Please,” he said. “Please, Peter, fuck me –”

“Shh,” Mary Jane said, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to beg. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, anything you want, you get.”

Johnny swallowed again and said, his voice only marginally steadier, “I want Peter to fuck me.”

“What about me? You want me to watch?” Mary Jane asked, tilting his chin back towards her. “Appreciate how nice you’re going to take it for our man?”

“No,” Johnny said, shaking his head. MJ blinked in surprise, and Johnny hurriedly continued, “Yes, I mean – I don’t want just that. I want you, too.”

“Oh,” Mary Jane said, sounding a little surprised.

“Can I?” Johnny asked, his gaze falling to Mary Jane’s lips. “Kiss you again, I mean.”

“I tell you I want Peter to fuck you and you ask me if you can kiss me again?” Mary Jane said, a surprised laugh in her voice. She recovered between one moment and the next, her voice gone sultry again. It was a tone Peter recognized, one he hadn’t known how to read when he’d been young and stupid, taking everything at face value. This was Mary Jane, suddenly twenty-two again and trying so hard to be unflappable and sexy in the face of the unknown. Do you want me, do you want the real me? Peter could see the heart beating wildly in her chest, now.

He reached over, past Johnny, and put his hand discreetly over hers, running his thumb over her tightly curled fingers.

“Yes,” Mary Jane said after a beat, her smile melting into something much more real. “Yes, you can kiss me again, as much as you want.”

Johnny leaned in, his hand cupped to Mary Jane’s cheek. The kiss was sweet, for a minute, and then Mary Jane toppled herself backwards, taking Johnny with her. His muffled squeak made Peter laugh even as he leaned over them, watching them as even as he lowered his own lips to the nape of Johnny’s neck. He moved back as Mary Jane’s hands slid up Johnny’s shoulders, pushing his shirt off. Peter helped, freeing Johnny’s arms from it before tossing it over his shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” Johnny said, his lips against Mary Jane’s neck as she tilted her head back. Her laugh was low and throaty as she took his hand, guiding it to the zipper hidden at the side of her dress.

“Oh, hot stuff,” Mary Jane said. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen me naked.”

Johnny’s breath hitched. He glanced over his shoulder at Peter, as if he expected this, the delicate brush of his fingers against the velvet of Mary Jane’s dress, to be a step too far. Peter raised his eyebrows at him meaningfully.

Slowly, Johnny dragged the zipper down. When it was fully unzipped, Mary Jane pressed another kiss to his lips. She put her hand on his chest, pushing him up and off her before she stepped nimbly off the bed.

Peter pulled Johnny back against his chest, languidly running his hands over Johnny’s body as Mary Jane stripped out of her dress, enjoying his soft little noises as she spun around for them. It was strange, knowing this show wasn’t just for him. Strange, but he liked it. Her bra hit the floor next, unhooked with a playful wink, and her panties followed as she shimmied her hips, and then Mary Jane was naked. She was beautiful. Peter had always known she was beautiful, from the first moment the door to the house next door had opened to reveal her standing on the front porch. But there was something about Mary Jane when she was naked – long legs and bare breasts and miles of freckled skin – that was special. Over the years, he’d realized it was her confidence, how utterly at home she was in her skin, the way she loved putting on a show. She looked that way now, standing under the lights and staring down at Johnny.

“Well?” she said, canting her head to the side and making her hair spill like waterfall over her shoulder. “See anything you like?”

“I know I do,” Peter said, right in Johnny’s ear. Johnny shivered, and Peter tightened his arm around his waist.

“Yes, tiger, but you’ve seen it all before,” Mary Jane said, striking a pose with one hand on her hip.

She moved with all the grace of a tiger herself, swinging herself into Johnny’s lap, her arm around his neck. Johnny seemed torn between staring at her face or at her breasts, and Peter couldn’t blame him.

“It’s okay,” Mary Jane said, laughing. She leaned back a little, her shoulders thrust back. “You can look. I want you to look. Peter, tell him he can look.”

“Not that you two begging for my permission doesn’t sound hot,” Peter said, catching Mary Jane with one hand around her elbow before she lounged herself straight off Johnny’s lap, “but I don’t want to hear about how I’m setting some movement back twenty years later.”

“Shut up,” Mary Jane snorted, just as Johnny said, “Oh my God, Pete, shut up.”

There was a beat, a moment of silence, and then Mary Jane and Johnny both burst into laughter. They fell against each other, Johnny sprawling out on top of Mary Jane, and it took some quick work on Peter’s part to make sure all three of them didn’t go toppling off the bed.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said when they kept snickering, all wrapped up around each other. “It wasn’t that funny.”

It was like a spell had broken, though. Johnny lifted his head just enough to look down at Mary Jane and then they were kissing again, her hands buried in his hair. Gone was the awkwardness from before, Mary Jane’s bravado and Johnny’s hesitation.

If only beautiful models laughing at Peter fixed every problem in his life.

“Oh,” Mary Jane gasped, still laughing. “If little MJ could see me now, naked with the Human Torch on top of her…”

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hey,” Peter said, leaning over them.

“You were on the cover of Teen Vogue in red latex,” Mary Jane muttered, sliding her foot up the back of Johnny’s leg. Johnny’s hand was resting against her ribs, just under her breast, until Mary Jane slid her own hand over his and brought it upwards. “Johnny, Johnny, you’re still wearing way too much.”

“I can help with that,” Peter said.

Johnny’s hips were so slim, Peter felt like if he spread his hands just a little he could totally encircle them. He wrapped his arms around his waist instead, tugging Johnny back against him in an embrace for just a second. He dropped a kiss to Johnny’s shoulder as he helped him shed those tight black pants, then ran his hands back up the soft skin of Johnny’s thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, because it was true and because it made Johnny shiver.

Then it was Peter’s turn. Even now, two years in, unbuttoning his shirt and not finding the suit underneath felt odd. It had been a part of him for so long, his near constant companion. He missed, sometimes, the weight of the embroidered spider over his chest, keeping him grounded.

Some small part of him wondered if Johnny would be disappointed that Peter was taking his clothes off and not revealing Spider-Man underneath. If he was, it didn’t show on his face – and Johnny had never been that good of an actor. Johnny’s gaze had fallen to Peter’s chest, heat in his cheeks again, and Peter wasn’t sure how he could blush that much without literally bursting into fire, but he guessed Johnny had had practice.

“Hey,” he said. He reached out and knocked his knuckles gently under Johnny’s chin, tipping his face up for kissing. Johnny made a soft sound as their lips met, his hands flying up to touch Peter’s chest, and Peter curved one of his own hands around Johnny’s hip as he reached down with the other to undo his fly.

Johnny’s eyelashes fluttered when they broke apart, catching gold in the candlelight, and Peter couldn’t help but cradle his face for a moment, just looking down at him.

“Peter?” Johnny asked, softly. Peter only shook his head – he had no idea how to voice his own thoughts at the moment, everything he felt when he looked down at Johnny too heavy for even his tongue – and pulled him forward, leaning up to kiss his forehead.

Johnny made a soft, longing sort of noise, and Peter’s hand slipped up to the small of his back, just holding him for a moment. His gaze met Mary Jane’s over Johnny’s shoulder, and there was something unreadable in her expression that made his heart ache with the force of his love for them both.

He pressed his lips to Johnny’s forehead again and then he spun him around to face Mary Jane, Johnny’s back to his front as he wound an arm around his waist.

“Look at her,” he murmured, his lips against Johnny’s throat. His skin was blazing everywhere they touched, but the heat was grounding, comforting. Peter could have held him forever. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Yes,” Johnny said, his head falling back against Peter’s shoulder. He gripped Peter’s wrist tight.

Mary Jane preened, sliding a hand up into her hair.

“Flatterer,” she said with a carefree toss of her red curls. “It’s true, but still.”

“You want to eat her out?” Peter said. He leaned in to nip at Johnny’s ear and almost missed when Johnny nodded. Mary Jane stretched out on the bed, her arms high above her head and her hair fanned out across the white sheets, that come hither smile on her face. Peter felt a shiver go through Johnny, and he couldn’t resist adding, “You know how to do that, right?”

Mary Jane snorted before she quickly schooled her features back into a seductive expression. Johnny shot Peter a nasty look.

“Are you ever going to grow up?” he asked.

“If I couldn’t break him, no one can,” Mary Jane said. She beckoned at Johnny. “Now come here.”

It should have been strange, Peter thought, watching another man settle over his wife’s naked body. It should’ve made him feel angry, possessive, protective – in the past, just thinking about another man’s hands on Mary Jane had been enough to make him want to slam that man’s face into a brick wall. Repeatedly. If it was anyone else, Peter would have torn him off of her.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Johnny, and Mary Jane wanted him just as much as Peter did. They looked beautiful twined together on the bed, her hand in his hair as he kissed his way down her stomach. Her back arched as Johnny slid a hand between her legs.

“Oh,” she said as he worked his fingers. He mouthed at her hip and her fingers tightened in his hair. “Oh, that’s good. Just like that.”

Peter took a moment to appreciate them, Johnny long and lean on top of beautiful Mary Jane. Then he moved forward, settling over Johnny. He growled playfully in his ear and Johnny jumped, just a little, which made Mary Jane gasp. Peter laughed, smoothing a hand down Johnny’s back.

“Easy, hot stuff,” he said.

He kissed him, starting at the nape of his neck, where Johnny’s fluffy blond hair tickled his nose. He kept kissing him, over the backs of his shoulders, down the line of his back. Somewhere along the line he hooked his hand around Mary Jane’s ankle, running his thumb across the heel of her foot. All three of them, together, touching. Peter was in love with them both all over again.

There was a mole at the base of Johnny’s spine; he pressed a kiss to it, then ran his tongue over the soft skin there. Johnny’s ass was perfect and right there for the taking; Peter nipped at one cheek and got a loud yelp.

Peter asked, very innocently, “Need something, blondie?”

The look Johnny shot him was incredulous, his eyebrows raised, but his face was bright red. Peter projected innocence as far as it would take him, which admittedly wasn’t very far with his hand still on Johnny’s perfect ass.

“Pete,” Johnny said, suddenly. “Do you remember that time you were at the Baxter Building, watching TV? And that commercial came on? With that smoking hot model?” When Peter frowned, Johnny smirked. “The redhead. And I said, now that is a woman.”

The redhead. Peter remembered like a punch to the face the commercial Mary Jane had done a few years back. He could barely remember what it was for, just that she had been one step away from naked in it.

“The things I would do to you in a green bikini,” Johnny told Mary Jane, even as Peter petulantly said, “Hey, that’s still my wife.”

“Well, skip the bikini, hot stuff, and give me a preview,” Mary Jane said, beaming.

“Supermodel of my dreams,” Johnny hummed, hiking one of Mary Jane’s long, long legs up over his shoulder and kissing his way up the freckled inside of her thigh. He grinned up at her. “I told that to your husband, before I knew you were his wife. Before I knew his face.”

“Sexy,” Mary Jane said. She waggled her eyebrows and Johnny laughed, bright and loud. “I think I missed out sometimes on the whole masked man phase.”

“Nobody told you to figure out my secret identity,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“Mm, well, you know what I thought, when I figured it out?” Mary Jane said, directing the question at Johnny, who was busy again with kissing the soft inside of her thigh. “I thought, a man with hands that can do all that…”

She broke off with a gleeful, exaggerated shiver.

“Forget his hands,” Johnny said, and Peter resisted the urge to ask how she possibly could or to insinuate that Johnny would never be able to, either, after he was done with him. “Wait ‘til you find out what I can do with my mouth.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to shiver, imagining first that hot mouth on Mary Jane, then those red lips wrapped around his cock. Johnny smirked at him like he knew, then turned his head back towards Mary Jane, sliding his hands up the underside of her thighs to cup her ass. Her legs slid further open readily for him, a surprisingly tender look on her face as he nosed at the red curls at her groin before licking at her folds.

“Oh,” Mary Jane sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Peter – his mouth is so hot, you were right.”

“Yeah?” Peter said, leaning over them both. Mary Jane reached out a hand, pulling him down for a kiss, and he obliged. He cupped a hand to the swell of her breast, thumbing at her nipple as he nipped at her bottom lip. “You having a good time, pretty girl?”

“Mmhmm,” Mary Jane said, smiling against his mouth. He kissed her once more and then turned his attention to Johnny, who had apparently taken his wish for him to eat Mary Jane out to heart and then some. They looked so good together, his fingers flexing at her freckled thigh.

“That’s good, hot stuff,” Peter murmured, kissing a spot just under Johnny’s shoulder blade. There was a faint scar there, white and faded. Peter didn’t know the story behind it but he wanted to. “Just like that, she likes that. You’re so good to us both.”

Johnny shuddered underneath his hand, like it was the praise that was too much for him. Peter kept one hand on his back, stroking down the line of his spine, as he reached over with the other and fumbled through the bedside drawer.

He settled over Johnny, pressing another kiss to his shoulder before he trailed slick fingers over his hip, letting him feel what Peter was doing. He slid his hand to Johnny’s ass and it was like dominos falling, each one tipping another over: Johnny groaned deep in his chest, and Mary Jane sighed, tilting her head to the side, her hair a red waterfall against the pillow as she arched her back. The sight of her, her bare breasts and peaked nipples, her closed eyes and her long fingers fisted in the pillowcase, Johnny’s golden head between her freckled thighs, made desire throb in Peter’s gut, his cock heavy and hard between his legs.

But it wasn’t his turn yet, and sometimes even Spider-Man knew how to be patient. When Johnny canted his hips up, pushing into Peter’s hand, Peter didn’t waste any more time. He hummed a little, pressing his lips in a line down Johnny’s back as he slipped his fingers between his cheeks, and Johnny made a muffled noise as Peter’s fingers slid against his hole.

Peter didn’t make any moves to push inside Johnny just yet, but when he pressed lightly at Johnny’s hole, Johnny whined low in his throat, and Mary Jane gasped, a laugh on her lips. Peter would’ve done pretty much anything to keep both of them making those noises.

“What was that you were saying about my hands being forgettable, pretty boy?” he asked, rubbing slow circles at Johnny’s hole.

Johnny raised his head to glare at Peter as Mary Jane laughed, her head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. Johnny’s eyes were sparking, his cheeks rosy red, and his mouthy wet and shiny. It was, Peter thought, a very good look on him.

“Stop trying to make everything a competition,” Johnny told Peter, before he buried his red face in between Mary Jane’s thighs again.

“Oh, now I’m the one trying to make things a competition?” Peter said, snorting. He had to smother his smile by pressing another kiss to Johnny’s back.

“No, please, gentlemen,” Mary Jane laughed, low and throaty, her voice hitching on a moan. “Don’t stop on my account.”

When Mary Jane came it was with a gasp, her back arching up off the back before she fell back against the pillows with a sigh. She threaded one hand through her hair, sending her bangs askew, as she stretched her other arm high above her head.

“That was nice,” she hummed, toes curling. Johnny leaned over her and she wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, tugging him down for a long kiss.

“Yeah?” Johnny asked, a pleased flush on his face. Peter kissed the nape of his neck again, trying not to get jealous that his wife had had Johnny’s mouth on her before he’d gotten a turn.

“So good,” Mary Jane promised, softly kissing the corner of his mouth. Johnny practically glowed with the praise, his smile surprisingly shy.

“See, what I’d tell you?” Peter leaned in to whisper to Mary Jane. He kissed the spot just below Mary Jane’s ear. “You come first.”

She smacked him on the shoulder, laughing helplessly as he growled in her ear.

“The Bugle was right about you,” she said, schooling her face into a frown as she turned his face towards her. She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Now go take care of him.”

“Whatever my lady commands,” he said, his fingers dancing lightly down her side.

When he glanced up, Johnny was watching them. He was still flushed and lovely, practically glowing to the point where Peter almost wondered if it was a side effect of his powers, and, Peter couldn’t help but notice, he was hard, his cock red and leaking. But it was the look on his face that caught Peter’s attention, something almost wistful. It wasn’t a fuck me now, Spider-Man face – not that Peter had been vividly imagining what kind of expression that might be. Instead Johnny almost looked like he might cry.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Peter asked, reaching out to cup his face in his hands.

Johnny mustered up a watery smile, shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s – it’s nothing, it’s just…”

Mary Jane sat up, her brow creased as she reached forward, setting her own hand on his knee.

“Johnny?” she said.

Johnny’s smile split into a watery grin and he laughed, even as Peter ran a thumb under his eye, gathering up the moisture there.

“I was just thinking – you really love each other,” he said. “And that’s just – it’s really nice. I like watching it.”

He needed to stop talking, before he did something terrible like make Peter cry too. Mary Jane had a similar look on her face, throwing him a glance before she slid closer to Johnny.

“What can we do?” she asked, twisting her fingers in his.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. His grin was brilliant despite his damp eyes. “I told you, it’s nice. I’m just…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, his free hand curled into a loose fist and pressed to his heart. Mary Jane’s face did something complicated, her hand squeezing Johnny’s. She threw Peter another glance, their eyes meeting, and a determination settled over her face, quiet and tough as iron.

“If you wanted to be alone with him,” Mary Jane said quietly, reaching up to brush the wetness from his cheeks. “I would understand.”

In answer, Johnny surged forward, catching her mouth with his own. Mary Jane made a surprised noise, even as her hand flew up to frame his cheek. After a second the line of her shoulders relaxed, her hand sliding into Johnny’s hair.

“Don’t go,” Johnny said when they broke apart. “Stay. I want you to stay.” His voice, so sincere it was almost painful, wavered a little. “I’ll miss you if you go.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mary Jane said, taking Johnny by the chin. Her thumb brushed against his lower lip. “I’m not going anywhere; I was just checking. There’s plenty of time, right?” At his stunned look, she smiled and said, “There’s so much time.”

“S’okay, hot stuff. No more worrying, alright?” Peter said, pressing himself up against Johnny from behind. Johnny turned to look at him, a fire deep in his blue eyes, and now it was Peter’s turn to kiss him.

It was incredible to kiss Johnny and taste Mary Jane on his lips. It was even better when Mary Jane pressed up against Johnny from behind, snaking one arm around his waist as her other hand found Peter’s, her long fingers wrapping around his and squeezing briefly. Peter flipped his palm over in hers, squeezing back.

He loved this, the feeling of Johnny caught between them. It felt right, like it was where Johnny had belonged this whole time.

“Okay, then. I wasn’t just being nice before, although I am very nice,” Mary Jane said, her voice steadier now, as she hooked her chin over Johnny’s shoulder. There was a gleam in her eyes as she walked her fingers down Johnny’s stomach, pausing briefly to outline the shape of his abs before she reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock. Johnny moaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “I really do want to watch Peter fuck you.”

Johnny glanced back at Peter, red and flustered all over again, and Peter wondered how long that was going to last, because it was almost too cute to stand. He growled a little, aiming to make Johnny laugh, as he kissed the spot just beneath his ear.

“Well if she wants it,” he murmured, sucking a kiss to Johnny’s throat. “And you want it… and I definitely want it…”

He moved down to Johnny’s shoulder, savoring the warmth of his skin. He felt like sunshine, right here in Peter’s bed, warm like he’d been lying on the beach all day. Peter thought he wanted that – all of them making the trek out to the shore together, taking the train or, knowing Johnny, one of his ridiculous sportscar with the top down. He could imagine the wind in Mary Jane’s hair. They’d pack a cooler full of sandwiches that would somehow get sandy even before they unlatched it and lay out a blanket and Peter would take sandcastle architecture too seriously long after Mayday got bored with it. Mary Jane would read a book, a sun hat pulled down low over her face – “do you want me to freckle more?” – even as she lounged under the umbrella. Johnny would nap in the sun.

He closed his own big hand over Mary Jane’s, moving with her as she stroked Johnny.

“What do you say, hot stuff?” he asked, sucking another kiss to Johnny’s throat. “You want me inside you?”

“Yes,” Johnny gasped, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“Good boy,” Peter murmured, just to watch that pretty flush spread over his face again. He nipped at the edge of his jaw. “How do you want to do this? On your hands and knees?”

“No, I – I need to see your face,” Johnny said, biting his lip. That ache, growing familiar, blossomed in Peter’s chest again, growing like vines even before Johnny added, “It’s not that I don’t know it’s you – I do, I promise I do – or that I doubt you. I just – I want to see your face tonight.”

Peter dropped his forehead against Johnny’s for a brief moment. He said, “Whatever you want, Torch. That sounds good to me.”

Johnny smiled up at him, like Peter had done him some big favor. Like Peter didn’t always want to be looking at his face, too.

“Ridiculous,” he grumbled, kissing Johnny’s cheek. “Like it’s a chore to look at your pretty face.”

That, at least, earned him a real smile. Johnny touched Peter’s cheek, his thumb stroking the spot beneath his ear until Peter turned his face just enough to kiss his palm.

“Lie down,” he murmured, licking a stripe up between Johnny’s fingers. “Let me take good care of you.”

Johnny shivered. Mary Jane’s hands caught him as he leaned back, helping him lie back. She grinned down at him once he was stretched out on his back, running her hands through his hair.

“Last chance to tell me to get lost,” she teased, leaning over him as she maneuvered his head into her lap.

“Never,” Johnny said, grinning back up at her. Mary Jane hummed softly, touching his cheek.

She glanced up at Peter, unbelievably beautiful with her red hair spilling over her shoulder and her green eyes so warm and full of love. Peter couldn’t help but lean over and kiss her quickly, their lips meeting over Johnny. Peter laid one hand down lightly on Johnny’s chest, right over his heart, and smiled into the kiss as Johnny’s fingers circled his wrist.

Mary Jane kissed the tip of his nose when they broke apart and said, “Make me proud, tiger,” as she waggled her eyebrows. Beneath them, Johnny burst into giggles, his chest shaking beneath Peter’s palm.

“I’ll teach you to laugh at my prowess,” Peter said, schooling his face into a frown. It was hard to keep a straight face, though, when Johnny looked so happy, when there was so much heat just under Peter’s skin, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t mind being patient, no longer so desperate to fuck a lover that he was surprised nobody had ever grabbed a snapshot of Spider-Man up on some roof with his pants down, but still – here they were, him and Mary Jane and Johnny all in bed, and everyone was agreed on one thing. He was going to fuck beautiful Johnny Storm.

Mary Jane kept Johnny’s head pillowed her in lap as Peter grabbed for the lube again, her hand stroking through his hair. The way he smiled up at her made Peter’s heart skip a beat.

Johnny’s long legs lay open, and Peter took a second to appreciate him, the soft pale skin of his thighs and the cut of his hips, his cock curving towards his belly, dripping precum. Later, Peter thought, he was going to press Johnny back by those slim hips and suck him dry. Maybe in the shower. Maybe pinned to the couch with some stupid movie on in the background. When he was done with that, he was going to flip Johnny over, hold him open, and eat him out until he wept.

His first slick finger sunk in easily, Johnny’s body relaxing beautifully beneath him. He sighed as Peter’s fingers worked him over, opening him up, and leaned into Mary Jane’s touch, reaching up himself to brush a lock of her red hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the line of her neck.

“Is it good?” she asked, her voice lightly teasing, and Johnny grinned and nodded.

“Just good?” Peter asked. He crooked his fingers and Johnny swore suddenly, stuttering over it. Peter snickered, finding the same spot again to get a moan. “That’s what I thought.”

“Peter,” Johnny said, looking at him. There were sparks dancing deep in his eyes, making them look even bluer. “Peter, c’mon, more. I can take it.”

“You sure?” Peter teased, sliding his fingers in deep as he pressed a kiss to the side of Johnny’s ribs. Johnny gasped, stomach jumping under Peter’s lips as he moved down.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll set you on fire,” he threatened, his voice hot and breathless. Little did he know Peter already felt like he was on fire, desire blazing through every inch of him.

He slicked himself up before reaching out to grab one of Johnny’s legs, wrapping it around his hip as he leaned forward, his cock pressed to Johnny’s entrance. It was like standing at the very edge of a skyscraper, preparing to take that leap. That had always been one of Peter’s favorite moments, the split second right before the fall.

“I got you, hot stuff,” Peter said. The words had left his lips a million times, tossed out breezily as he handed Johnny his favorite fast food order at the top of their usual place or hissed from between gritted teeth as he executed a last minute save, sweeping Johnny out of the air before he hit the ground. He’d meant them every time, but especially now. “I’ve always got you.”

Johnny just moaned, his eyes slipping shut and his mouth wide open as Peter pressed into him. Mary Jane reached down to trace the shape of his bottom lip, cradling his jaw gently, and the sight made Peter groan, pushing deeper into Johnny as desire licked at every fire of his being, hot as flames.

Johnny was so hot inside, like a fever dream. Peter could already tell just how lost he was going to get, all wrapped up in him. It wasn’t that he’d never thought about fucking Johnny before Mary Jane had hit him in the face with the truth – it was just that he’d been young and horny and Johnny had been unbelievably beautiful and also on the cover of half the billboards in town. Peter had figured that the occasional sex dream was something halfway short of Stockholm Syndrome.

The occasional and now mostly forgotten sex dream had nothing on real life. Here, in their bed, Johnny was all consuming. A volcano. A supernova. Peter rocked further into him and Johnny’s soft lips parted, his breath stuttered.

“Easy, hot stuff,” Peter repeated. “I got you.”

“I know,” Johnny said, his breath hitching. Peter dropped a kiss to his chest. “It’s good, Peter, it’s so good. I’ve - oh -- I’ve had this fantasy a lot,” he said, his voice high and breathy as he met Peter’s thrusts. His fingers dug into Peter’s shoulder, bright little points of heat. “You were – you were wearing the suit, Pete.”

Peter could picture it – an abandoned rooftop somewhere high up, since they both loved heights so much, and him in the old red and blue spandex, or no, maybe the black. Johnny had used to blush, when Peter came around in the black suit.

Peter almost said something, words on the tip of his tongue about to be voiced without thinking, the way he got in a fight sometimes when his mouth just took over, but then Johnny said, “This is better, this is so much better, Peter, please.”

Mary Jane had told Johnny, tonight you get whatever you want. Peter didn’t intend to make a liar out of his wife. The next thrust was long and slow and hard, and Johnny gasped, his fingers flexing at Peter’s shoulder. Johnny turned his head to look at Mary Jane, offering her a shaky smile when he saw that she was looking right back.

“Is it – ah! Is it good for you?” he asked. There were sparks dancing in his eyes even as his breath hitched, his lips curved up in a smile.

“Oh, hot stuff,” Mary Jane said. She reached behind her for a pillow, settling it underneath Johnny’s head before sliding closer. She tipped Johnny’s head towards her as she stretched out next to him, moved in so that their lips almost touched. “I should get his camera and show you just how good this is for me.”

She pulled him into a kiss, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and onto his skin, and now it was Peter who wanted to get his camera. That would mean leaving the bed, though, so it was out. If only he’d been bitten by a radioactive Nikon.

Later, he reminded himself, rocking back into Johnny. There would be time for pictures and everything else they could think of later. Right now there was only this moment, Johnny’s tight heat enveloping him and the brush of Mary Jane’s skin against his own.

Mary Jane was kissing Johnny now, breaking apart occasionally to whisper things in his ear that made him blush. Her hand slipped between them, trailing down Johnny’s stomach to wrap around his cock. The noises he made as Mary Jane stroked him and Peter fucked him were little bitten off moans, like he wasn’t entirely used to making this much noise in bed, and Peter almost couldn’t stand it, not when Johnny was supposed to be loud and bright and irrepressible. He didn’t want to think about who had taught him to be quiet. He didn’t know what he might do if he ever had his suspicions confirmed.

He pushed the thought away, thinking, viciously: be here. Every other thought he banished until there was only the bright gold glint of Johnny’s hair in the bedroom light, the low hum of Mary Jane’s voice, her hand moving to grip his wrist and the electric jolt of her touch. Just the pull of Johnny’s body, the slick tight clench of him, soft and hot, so hot, and Peter really was going to lose himself in him.

Johnny came with a strangled wail, like it had been punched out of it, like somehow, in spite of everything else that had happened tonight, they were still surprising him. He looked dazed afterwards, chest heaving and eyes wide. Peter cupped his face with one hand and kissed him before he said something stupid like, I’m so in love with you I don’t know if I can bear it.

He could bear it, though. He knew he could. For Johnny and Mary Jane, he could do anything.

It was a good moment. Peter let himself get lost in it, the motion of their bodies, his sweat on Johnny’s skin, the fading scent of Mary Jane’s perfume. He didn’t want it to end. He wrapped his hands around Johnny’s slim hips and just moved.

His teeth closed around Johnny’s throat as he came, and Johnny moaned, digging his fingers into Peter’s bicep hard enough that even he might bruise. Peter pulled back, licking at his spot he’d bitten in apology, but his arms were trembling, suddenly, and for a second he thought he might collapse, his entire body still pulsing with pleasure.

Mary Jane grabbed his shoulder to steady him as Johnny flung an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, flush against his body. He didn’t say anything, but he hung onto Peter with all his strength, and his body was trembling faintly underneath Peter’s, his fingers shaking where they skated down his back.

The silence stretched on for a long moment. It wasn’t what Peter expected – he was used by now to moments of comfortable silence with Mary Jane, used to communicating with her with just a look if need be, but Johnny had never been the quiet type. It made Peter – not nervous, not exactly. But there was an itch under his skin that he thought only the sound of Johnny’s voice would scratch.

“Hey, hot stuff. In your dirty Spider-Man sex dreams. Was I wearing the mask?” Peter asked, finally, his voice coming back to him as he made to pull out.

Johnny laughed like it had been startled out of him and Mary Jane snorted, hiding her smile behind a cupped hand.

“The first few times,” Johnny admitted, opening his eyes to stare at Peter. “But that was before I knew what your face looked like.”

“Oh,” Peter said quietly, surprised. He’d expected – he didn’t know. Loving mockery, maybe. Another paper bag joke, like they were twenty-two again.

Johnny smiled, sweet and unguarded. He reached up, tracing down Peter’s nose with one long finger. He lingered at the bump in the bridge, his smile growing wider, and Peter knew he wasn’t half bad face-wise but he’d never thought of himself as good enough to make Johnny Storm smile at him like that.

“The mask was always off, after that,” Johnny said.

Peter’s eyes burned just a little at the corners.

“I’ll wear a suit for you sometime,” Mary Jane said. She nipped at Johnny’s ear. “Yours or Peter’s. You can pick.” She paused and then added, “I look really great in his, though.”

“She does,” Peter said, shrugging. “Not as great as me, but – hey, watch it, MJ.” She smiled guilelessly at him, like she hadn’t just tried to shove him. “It’s just a little baggy in the shoulders on you, that’s all.”

Johnny laughed quietly, lacing his hand over Mary Jane’s and squeezing.

“I want to see that,” he said.

There was a suspicious wobble to Johnny’s voice. Peter took another look at his face and felt his heart sink when he saw his eyelashes were wet.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to brush a tear from Johnny’s cheek. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Johnny sniffed, scrubbing at his face with the heel of one hand. “Nothing’s wrong. That’s just it – I’m so happy.”

Peter’s chest clenched painfully as he glanced over at Mary Jane. She met his gaze for a second and then she moved closer to Johnny, pressing herself up against his side. She kissed his shoulder, gently shushing, not that Johnny was making much noise. When his chest shook, it did so silently, his hand pressed over his eyes.

Peter reached over and wrapped his hand around Johnny’s wrist, squeezing gently as he pulled his hand away. Tears ran down Johnny’s cheeks, glinting in the soft candlelight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. There was the slightest stammer in his voice. “I’m ruining everything.”

“No,” Peter promised softly.

Mary Jane cupped Johnny’s face between her hands, kissing his closed eyes and the space between his brows as she murmured, “We have you now. We’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, his voice just a little rough, his chest just a little tight. He put his arm around both of them. “It’s all okay. I’ve got you both.”

“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked. He trailed his hand up Johnny’s bare thigh, not with the intention to start another round. He just wanted to touch, to feel Johnny’s warm skin under his hand, to learn his body the way he’d learned Mary Jane’s, slowly and intimately.

“Mm, how nice you feel,” Johnny mumbled sleepily, laughing a little bit.

Peter kissed his shoulder, then his neck. “And how do you feel?”

“Good,” Johnny murmured. He shivered a little as Peter’s hand found his hip. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah?” Peter whispered, pressing his lips behind Johnny’s ear. “Good.” He pulled him back against himself, enjoying the way the curve of his ass pressed up against his groin, and reconsidered that whole other round thing. “If you wanted, I could make you feel good again…”

“Let him rest for a little bit, you horndog,” Mary Jane said, coming back into the room in one of Peter’s old t-shirts. She clicked off the overhead light, leaving only the bedside table lamp and the candles burning their way out, and climbed into bed, cuddling up against Johnny’s chest. “He’ll go all night if you let him.”

Johnny shifted to glance at Peter over his shoulder, wide-eyed. Peter shrugged back at him.

“Spider stamina,” he said by way of explanation.

“I don’t know if I want to set you on fire for that or not,” Johnny said.

“Not tonight,” Mary Jane said, squeezing Johnny. “Tonight is for cuddling. You’re so warm. You good? Sore?”

“A little bit,” Johnny admitted. He pressed his ass back against Peter’s crotch and something possessive and satisfied curled in Peter’s veins. “I like it, though. Feels nice.”

“Been a while, huh?” Peter said, raking his fingers down the outside of Johnny’s thigh. He felt a lazy sort of pride settle over him, like he’d conquered new territory, and he buried his nose in the crook of Johnny’s shoulder.

“Since I enjoyed it?” Johnny murmured, voice a little wistful. “Yeah. A while.”

Since he’d enjoyed it. Peter’s chest clenched. Sometimes, without the outlet Spider-Man had provided him for a decade, everything felt too big, too much. He didn’t know what to do with Johnny saying that. He felt angry, and terribly sad, and so in love with Johnny that it hurt.

“We aim to please,” Mary Jane murmured, hooking her foot over Johnny’s ankle. Her bare toes brushed against Peter’s leg, an anchor.

“And we’re – gonna do this again,” Johnny said, sounding unsure himself whether he was asking a question or not.

“This and more. As many times as you want,” Mary Jane said, kissing him chastely. “For as long as you want. You’ve got us, Johnny Storm. We’re hooked.” She palmed his cheek, tilting her forehead against his, and Peter’s arm tightened around him. “We’re being serious, you know. We love you. We want to be with you.”

“I love you too,” Johnny said quietly, almost like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud lest he shatter the spell. “Both of you, more than you know.”

Peter kissed his shoulder softly. Johnny sighed, shifting a bit as he turned at the waist to press his lips to Peter’s, his hand in Peter’s hair. Peter had never before been so grateful for all the yoga Johnny did.

There was still that little worried line between his brows, though. Peter cradled his jaw with one hand, his thumb brushing just under Johnny’s ear.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m way too good in the sack for you to be frowning like that.”

“I’m just thinking,” Johnny said. Peter manfully didn’t respond that that was a first, not sure that tonight their usual back and forth teasing would be taken the right way: You’re so good I can’t possibly be sincere about it. It might kill me if I tried.

“About what?” he asked instead. Mary Jane tightened her arm around Johnny, letting him know she was listening.

“I have to tell her,” Johnny said. “I have to – it’s one thing, to spend years wishing I was sleeping with my best friend instead. It’s another to actually sleep with somebody else. Two somebodies.”

Years, Peter thought, his ears ringing. Years.

“What am I going to say?” Johnny asked.

“Sorry, I had a mind-blowing threesome with a very sexy couple out in Queens who should probably buy a bigger bed,” Mary Jane suggested, a husky laugh in her voice as she traced a heart around Johnny’s belly button. Johnny snorted as Mary Jane continued, “I love them and they love me and we’re going to be very, very, deliriously happy together.”

Johnny didn’t snort at that.

“That it’s over,” Peter said. “That you’re not happy. That you don’t love her. That she hurts you.”

Johnny shifted, glancing up at him, and the naked pain on his face made Peter’s whole world stand still for a second.

“You don’t understand,” Johnny said. “I’ve done that all before.”

Peter cupped the back of his head and brought him in for a kiss as Mary Jane fit herself closer against Johnny’s back, her knees settled behind his and her nose in the crook of his neck.

“Then I’ll tell her,” Peter said.

Johnny looked at him with disbelief written all over his face.

“You can’t just – fuck me and then decide to fix all my personal problems,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, Johnny, I’ll break up with your fiancé for you. Who does that?”

“Why not?” Peter asked, shrugging. It seemed simple to him. He had no special care for Lyja or her feelings; what mattered to him was Johnny’s safety and his happiness. He’d get that point across however he could.

“Peter,” Mary Jane said, her voice low and warning. The shut up didn’t need to be said for Peter to hear it loud and clear. “Johnny, I know it’s hard to tune the lunkhead out, but listen to me now, okay?”

Johnny took a deep shuddering breath even as he nodded, putting his forehead down against Peter’s chest.

“A few years ago,” Mary Jane said, rubbing circles on Johnny’s stomach, “there was a man named Jonathan Caesar. A very big, very important man with a lot of money and a lot of connections. And he wanted to own me, body and soul, because he saw my pictures in some magazines and he thought he was in love with me.”

Peter watched Mary Jane as she spoke, his thumb stroking small circle at Johnny’s hip. Mary Jane didn’t talk very much about Jonathan Caesar, not anymore, but Peter knew better than to think the experiences hadn’t left their mark. He liked to think of his wife as the strongest, most resilient person he knew – far stronger and more resilient than him, most days – and in a lot of ways she was. Jonathan Caesar’s memory didn’t haunt her, he knew, the way that memories of Venom or Norman Osborn did, and nothing could ever hold a candle to those weeks they thought they’d lost their daughter before they’d even gotten to meet her. But Caesar had come first and he had still cut her deep. Had gotten them evicted, taken away the home Mary Jane had worked so hard for, threatened her independence again and again for refusing him, and almost destroyed her career.

“It was – bad,” Mary Jane said after one stilted second, a faraway look in her eyes. Another thing they didn’t talk about – the days Jonathan Caesar had kept Mary Jane imprisoned, until she’d escaped on her own, because Spider-Man hadn’t been a good enough detective to save his own wife. Mary Jane had never blamed him, but that was fine. Peter blamed himself enough for the both of them and their whole extended family to boot. “But just because he wanted to own me, that didn’t mean he got to. I fought like hell to get him to realize he didn’t get me.”

Johnny shifted, turning to face Mary Jane. He put his forehead down against hers, stroking some of her hair back from her neck. Peter couldn’t see her face this way, couldn’t see if there were tears in her eyes or just steely determination. Whatever the look on her face, Johnny needed to see it more than him. He still reached over Johnny, rucking up Mary Jane’s shirt so he could touch her skin.

“I’m sorry, MJ,” Johnny whispered to her. “I’d set him on fire for you if I could.”

“Sweet talker,” Mary Jane said, her voice just a little thick around the edges.

“It’s not the same, though,” Johnny said. “I could’ve left whenever I wanted, if I was really that unhappy. I’m the Human Torch. I’m…”

He trailed off, shaking his head even as he gathered Mary Jane’s hand up in his, brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingers.

“Shh, hey,” Mary Jane said, pressing her fingertips to his lips. “We have a rule in this bed: no blaming yourself for things that aren’t you fault.”

“That one’s news to me,” Peter said, even as he kissed the back of Johnny’s head.

“I never told you because it’s the only place you don’t blame yourself for everything,” Mary Jane shot back. “I didn’t want you to get ideas.”

Johnny laughed a little and Peter kissed the nape of his neck, sliding a hand against his flat stomach and digging his fingers in just enough to tickle.

“Because it wasn’t your fault, Johnny,” Mary Jane said quietly, as if Peter had never interrupted. “She came into your life and you didn’t even know who she was. How could that be your fault?”

“I left before,” Johnny said, shrugging one shoulder in faux carelessness. “I don’t know how I ended up back here. I didn’t want to, but it felt like I just didn’t have a choice. Everywhere I went… there she was. At a certain point, you start to think – maybe I’m just being stupid. Maybe if someone tries that hard to keep you, you should… just let them. Even if you don’t think you want it.” He laughed bitterly. “Nobody else ever tried to keep me before, you know?”

Peter kissed his shoulder again, a silent promise.

“I thought, maybe that’s what love was,” Johnny said. “And I was just too dumb to realize it.”

“That’s not love, Johnny,” Mary Jane said, carding her hand through his hair. She cupped her hand to his cheek, looking deep into his eyes. “And you shouldn’t live like it is.”

Johnny swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, after a long moment. He sighed as Mary Jane leaned forward, craning her neck to place a kiss on his forehead. Peter’s hand tightened at his hip. “What do I – what do we do?”

Mary Jane looked at Peter, the same look she used to give him whenever they were enjoying a nice night out dining outside some trendy place she’d only just heard about when suddenly a whole cavalcade of police cars rushed by, sirens blaring.

God, but he loved her.

“We let me handle it,” Peter said.

Chapter Text

Mary Jane woke Peter up early by kneeing him in the stomach as she tried to get out of bed without waking Johnny.

“Oof. Watch the kishkes, MJ,” he grunted, rolling over and burying his nose in Johnny’s soft hair. It smelled nice, like chamomile and sunshine, and Peter couldn’t believe he’d never imagined how good this part could be, waking up in the morning to Johnny safe and warm in his bed. “I’ve got the day off, you know.”

“Lucky you,” Mary Jane said, arching an eyebrow. “But some of us have boutiques that won’t open themselves, tiger.”

She leaned over him, pecking him lightly on the lips as he wound his free hand into her red hair. This felt right, he thought to himself, Johnny sleeping tucked against his side and Mary Jane’s lips against his.

“Oh, that’s unfair,” Mary Jane said when she pulled back, looking down at Johnny. “He’s even pretty when he’s asleep. Am I that pretty when I’m asleep?”

“You’re the most radiant being to ever snore like an angry hippo,” Peter told her.

Mary Jane pulled the pillow out from behind his head and hit him across the face with it – all without disturbing Johnny, somehow. A true talent, his Mary Jane.

“You sure you have to go?” he asked her from underneath the pillow.

“As much as I’d love to stay and cuddle, I can’t,” Mary Jane said, taking it away from his face. “Tell Johnny it’s not him, it’s our crushing debt.”

Peter pulled her in for another kiss, longer this time, a little with the aim of getting her back into bed. Mary Jane wouldn’t be swayed. She nipped at his lip and told him to save it for later before she sauntered out the door, a swing in her hips like she knew he was watching. She probably did.

He brushed a kiss against Johnny’s temple and got a groan and a hand shoved in his face for his efforts. Slipping out of bed, he dressed quickly and met Mary Jane downstairs. She was staring in the hallway mirror as she fixed her earrings, a dangling pair with a bold geometric design that her cousin had gotten her last Christmas. There was a tenseness in the set of her shoulders, a slight line between her brows, that Peter hadn’t seen in a while.

“It’s gonna be fine, MJ,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just, back then, when you needed backup, you called Johnny. I don’t know who else you can call now, now that Daredevil’s…”

She trailed off, but the word dead still hung in the air between them. It had been months, but the news wasn’t quite old yet, the shock still fresh.

“I can handle one Skrull,” Peter said, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she said, although the flicker behind her eyes told him that it was. He hadn’t been in a fight for a long time, at least, not one more serious than a deeply embarrassing and incredibly public near-fistfight with the pharmacist at Duane Reade when little May had had a persistent fever.

Mary Jane loved this new life. She loved Peter with his steadier job and very few after midnight activities. And Peter – for the most part Peter thought maybe it had been a good trade, his leg and Spider-Man for this peaceful life, for his wife’s peace of mind, for knowing that in the future his daughter wouldn’t have to worry about whether her father was coming home.

But Peter needed to do this. He didn’t let threats to his family go unanswered, and Johnny had been his family for years.

“I want you to protect Johnny,” Mary Jane said after a pause. She played with the strap of her purse, a nervous habit Peter hadn’t seen her do in a long time. “I wish I could do it myself.”

“It’s too early in the morning for my wife to be talking about fighting a Skrull,” Peter said.

“Shut up, it’s too early in the morning for anyone to be talking about fighting any aliens,” Mary Jane said. She slipped her arms around his neck, knocking her forehead lightly against his. “Just be careful, please? Peter Parker, ordinary dad and husband careful, not the other guy’s kind of careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said. The downward twitch of her lips let him know she’d noticed how he refused to specify, but she didn’t say anything. He loved her for that, even as he hated himself for all the ways he’d hurt her over the years.

“Go get ‘er, tiger,” Mary Jane said, kissing him soft and quick.

She still threw him a look over her shoulder before she left, worry in her eyes that Peter wished he had never put there. But what was done was done – Mary Jane had always known who he was, even before they met. She’d walked into his life with her eyes open. It didn’t make it right, always, but it did make it easier, knowing the times he’d given her every reason to walk away.

He blew her a kiss and she smiled as she caught it. The door shut and Peter sighed, tipping his head back. He stayed like that, a rare moment of stillness, before he headed back up the stairs.

It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen Johnny when he first woke up. They’d known each other half their lives at this point, and Peter had traveled with the Fantastic Four. He’d shared tiny cramped space station quarters with Johnny, camping tents and alien hotel rooms. Johnny had never looked like this, though, naked and freshly debauched, his hair a mess of curls and his long, long legs sliding out from beneath Peter’s sheets.

“Morning,” he yawned, his voice rough with sleep, and that was that. Peter had to kiss him.

Johnny smiled into the kiss, one hand reaching up to sink into Peter’s hair, and immediately he was lost. Johnny’s lips were soft and he rendered everything warm, as if the bed had been lying in a patch of the brightest sunshine for hours. He’d explained to Peter once that he never got morning breath, a convenient side effect of his powers.

Peter had no place to be for the next few hours, so he said, “I want to take you back to bed.”

“I’m still in bed,” Johnny mumbled, his lips brushing Peter’s between every other word. Amusement danced in his voice. “So the good news is you won’t have to take me far.”

He laughed as Peter tackled him back down onto the messy sheets.

Johnny cooked breakfast afterwards, looking absolutely perfect standing barefoot in the kitchen that had used to belong to Peter’s aunt. It didn’t see a lot of use these days; Peter could cook, but didn’t make a habit of it, and Mary Jane left to her own devices could burn water. Johnny navigated it seamlessly in spite of the dismal state of the cabinets.

“Another reason to keep me around,” he said, as if he’d read Peter’s mind. He kissed Peter’s cheek as he slid a plate of eggs down in front of him.

“I don’t need any more reasons,” Peter promised him, reaching up to tug on a blond curl, and Johnny beamed.

Already, Johnny looked better, more relaxed. The smile on his lips was echoed in his eyes, and his laugh was quick and carefree. Peter’s chest felt tight as he realized that Johnny looked at home here, in Peter’s kitchen.

Peter hated to leave him, even for a few hours, but he had a job to do.

“I’m going to go to the Baxter Building,” he said as they stood side by side at the kitchen sink. He handed Johnny his plate to dry. “I’ll talk to Lyja. Make sure she knows the score now.” He watched as the smile on Johnny’s face fell, as his teeth sunk into his lower lip and his grip on the plate went white-knuckled. Very slowly, as if he didn’t trust his hands not to tremble, he set the plate down undried.

“Are you sure?” Johnny said, turning to him. There was worry in his sky blue eyes. Peter wanted to ask him what that look was for, to have no fear now that Spider-Man was here, but he knew that wasn’t fair. People had been telling Johnny how to feel for a very long time now. “I should go with you.”

“Do you want to go with me?” Peter asked, a genuine question for once.

Johnny hesitated long enough to tell him what the answer was.

“I should,” he finally said.

“I think,” Peter said, weighing the words carefully in his mouth before he said them, “that you’ve saved the world a couple dozen times over, Torchie. It’s time someone rescued you for once.”

Johnny looked like he wanted to argue, so Peter took his face between his hands and kissed him instead. By the time they broke apart, Johnny was flushed and breathless, but his eyes were still wary. Peter wondered if that look fade with time, or if it would always be lingering somewhere just around the corner, the way Mary Jane went very still sometimes at an unexpected knock on the door, or when she woke up in the night from a bad dream convinced someone had come and taken their daughter away again.

He ran his thumb across Johnny’s high cheekbone, tilting his head to kiss the space just beside his eye.

“It’s okay, Torch,” he said as gently as he could.

Johnny reached up and hooked his wet fingers in Peter’s t-shirt, right over his heart, more like he needed an anchor than he needed holding. He bit his lip and said, “I just want you to promise me you’ll be careful.”

Peter wrapped his arms around Johnny, swaying with him a little. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

“I meant actually careful, Pete,” Johnny said unhappily. “Not whatever passes for caution on Planet Parker.”

“You sound like my wife. Hey, what’s there to worry about?” Peter asked, knocking his forehead against Johnny’s. “It’s just harmless little old me versus a Skrull warrior from outer space. What could go wrong?”

Peter was a fixer. It was what he did – he’d started taking pictures to pay for the bills, for the mortgage, for Aunt May’s medication. He was always the first up whenever Mayday so much as sniffled; it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing. He worried about Betty when she was on the trail of a big story, tried to make sure she got home alright at night. He waited at the subway exit for Mary Jane no matter how many times she told him that he didn’t have to. And he’d tried to keep Harry safe and whole, even though he’d failed him in the end.

He wanted to fix this for Johnny, too.

“Besides,” Peter said, pressing another kiss to Johnny’s lips, “you have a very important job to do.”

“I do?” Johnny asked, twining his arms around Peter’s neck.

Peter’s hand traveled down Johnny’s side to tuck his fingers into the front pocket of his borrowed jeans. Johnny hummed, arching his hips up, which gave Peter just enough leverage to yank his cell phone out.

Johnny went cross-eyed staring at it as Peter held it up in front of his face.

“Uh?” he said, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Cancel the caterer,” Peter said, kissing the tip of Johnny’s nose.

The Baxter Building had seemed an intimidating fortress to Peter once, a very long time ago, when he’d been a newly minted Spider-Man who was desperate to prove himself – and to earn a little much needed cash on the side.

Now, though, older, wiser, and with a little more cash in the bank – not a lot more, but Peter would take it – the Baxter Building felt like an old friend. He had a million memories in these walls -- plenty of old superhero ones, sure, but the ones that stuck out to him now were the regular visits, the holidays he and Mary Jane had spent with the Fantastic Four, the first time he’d ever brought his baby daughter to the building, her eyes so wide in her little face and Johnny practically falling over himself in his excitement over her. How truly content Peter had been in that moment, sitting in the Baxter Building’s sun-lit living room, watching Johnny and Mary Jane play with the baby. The really, truly good times.

Peter’s face was familiar enough around here that the doorman touched the brim of his hat as Peter walked by, murmuring a respectful, “Mr. Parker,” and Peter wondered what the fifteen-year-old version of himself would have said if he could have had any idea.

He’d be spitting mad, he figured. He remembered that kid, constantly boiling over, a million big and little injustices just waiting to push him over the edge. Pretty boy Johnny Storm, rich, famous, and maskless, had just been an easy target.

Be good to him, kid, he thought back fifteen years into his own past. God knows for some reason he’s always been good to you.

He bypassed the gift shop, paying the window display with new t-shirts and action figures a brief glance and, well, that new holographic glitter logo had to be Johnny’s idea, didn’t it? Didn’t make it any less hideous. The Fantasti-Cafe, too, he spared hardly a glance. He’d eaten there only once and Johnny had had to hear about how the sandwich he’d gotten was an overpriced crime against humanity for the rest of the month. (“I didn’t personally make it,” Johnny had shot back. “You know that, right?”)

The doorman might have recognized him, but Peter still got quite the few glances – suspicious, curious, disbelieving – as he stepped up to the one elevator in the lobby that went all the way to the top floors. All it took was one quick scan for the doors to open. Peter stepped through, sparing the crowd a brief smirk as the doors closed behind him.

It felt strange to push the button for Johnny’s floor when he knew that right now Johnny was safe and sound back at his house in Forest Hills, probably raiding the fridge or taking a catnap in Peter’s bed. Maybe still wearing Peter’s clothes. Peter hoped Johnny was wearing his clothes. That would be a nice sight to come home to.

The doors opened up on Johnny’s living quarters. No one came to greet him. Not that Peter expected anyone to; it was always Johnny who was waiting for him by the elevators, after all.

The lack of reception made the floor feel empty, but Peter knew that wasn’t true. He could feel someone approaching, the faint prickle on the edges of his spider-sense long familiar to him now. Probably she’d heard the elevator. Probably she was expecting Johnny.

Lyja shifted as she caught sight of him, her green skin melting to pink and her hair going from green to blonde. It was a second too slow for Peter to miss, and he wondered if his spider-sense and quick reflexes were responsible for that or if she was just losing her touch. Before she’d been wearing something fitted and green, but by the time Peter blinked it was a bright red skirt and matching blazer, the shirt beneath peacock green and undone just enough. A power suit, Mary Jane would have called it.

Peter wasn’t impressed.

“Peter,” she said, a too bright note in her voice. She’d never really liked him, but then Peter had never really tried to give her a reason to. He’d never really liked her, either. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you were stopping by today.”

He tipped his head to the side, making a show out of favoring one leg the way he sometimes did when he was playing up Peter Parker, future forensic scientist and mild mannered dad from Forest Hills.

“It was something of an unexpected visit,” he allowed.

“Very,” Lyja said, her smile strained at the edges. “Well, actually, it might have been better if you called first – Johnny isn’t home right now, and actually he…”

Suddenly, she froze, every line of her still as a statue. The sunlight streaming in through the big windows was blinding; Peter almost missed when her skin shifted from pink back to green.

“You smell like him,” she said, her features twisted in rage.

That was all the warning Peter got before a blow caught him in the chest and sent him flying backwards, straight through the window. The glass shattered on impact. Lyja leapt out after him.

This part of being Spider-Man, he hadn’t missed so much.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Peter demanded as they plummeted, ten, twenty stories down, the wind whipping past them. He’d worn the webshooters – he wasn’t so out of practice that he’d gone without them – but before he could even flip his wrist over to save himself, something sharp grabbed him by the upper arms.

Lyja had half-shifted, leathery batwings sprouting from beneath her arms like gliders and her feet turned into talons, now clamped painfully around Peter’s arms as she swooped down to the ground in a controlled fall.

Peter broke her grip as soon as they were close enough to the ground for even a normal man to roll with the impact, bringing a knee up against her chest in a way that made her gasp as he broke away from her.

He’d meant for this to go peacefully, he really had.

He landed carefully, using his extraordinary balance to his best advantage. He hadn’t done this in a while, which he hoped might be to his advantage here – perhaps the fall would just look like a lucky break to her, and not the carefully calculated moves of a man who had operated as one of New York’s best known superpowered vigilantes for over a decade.

He didn’t have long to worry about it. Something large swooped over him as civilians ran screaming.

“Get out of here!” Peter shouted at a woman and her small child. He didn’t think Lyja would hurt bystanders, but then he couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t how he had intended for this to go down, in broad daylight and with witnesses. He’d wanted to do this nice and easy.

“They never let me do nothing nice and easy,” he grumbled to himself, gritting his teeth. “Fine, the hard way it is.” He raised his voice, shouting, “Lyja! What the hell do you think you’re doing, scaring all these people?”

“You should be concerned for yourself, not for them!” Lyja shouted, landing in a crouch on the ground. Her leathery wings retracted, folding back into her arms. Her eyes flashed, giving her ringed irises something of a hypnotic effect; Peter made sure not to blink. “He was right about you – you really are fearless, aren’t you?”

She didn’t say it like she thought it was a good thing. Peter begged to disagree.

“He this, he that,” Peter said, reaching up to brush broken glass from his shoulder. “Who the hell are we talking about?”

It maybe wasn’t the wisest course of action, yelling at Skrull warrior while he was still pretending to be something he wasn’t – plain, ordinary Peter Parker. But he was still a New Yorker, first and foremost, and being thrown out of a skyscraper window was enough to try anyone’s patience.

“Johnny,” Lyja spit out. “Told me he was off on Fantastic Four business, not to worry about it – but that was a lie. He was with you.”

For the briefest of seconds, Peter’s blood flashed cold. He opened his mouth – to what? To deny it? To ask how she knew? To play dumb? Something must have shown on his face because before he could make up his mind, Lyja was speaking again.

“Haven’t you ever wondered how an entire species to whom changing shape comes as easily as breathing recognizes family from foe?” Lyja demanded, her fists clenched.

“Never really thought about it,” Peter answered honestly. It had never really seemed that important, not when there were people and aliens to punch in the face.

“Skrulls have an enhanced sense of smell, you idiot! I could pick Johnny out of a crowd of a hundred thousand people, no matter what he looked like!” she shouted. Then, like all the fight had gone out of her all at once, she knelt down, rocking back on her heels. She put one hand over her face and said, quieter, “You humans are all so self-centered, it’s unbelievable you ever managed to crawl out of the primordial swamp.”

“Yeah, well, too bad for you that Earth worked that one out,” Peter said.

Lyja didn’t laugh, not that he’d expected her to – or particularly wanted her to. She was still on the ground, though, an easy target. The problem was Peter had always had a thing about hitting women. He didn’t like doing it, no matter who they were.

Aunt May could’ve stood to raise him a little worse, he thought bitterly.

“Alright,” he said, shrugging. He forced himself to keep his shoulders loose, his hands straight at his sides. “You got me. It’s exactly what you think. He was with me last night. What are you gonna do about it? Kill me?”

Lyja looked up at him, pure defiance written all over her face.

“If we were on my home planet, it would be my right,” she said.

“Well, too bad for you we’re in New York,” Peter said, meeting her gaze steadily. “And there are some rules here about that.”

“You don’t know how sick I am of your human rules,” Lyja snapped. “He is my mate! You stole him – defiled him!”

“I don’t think it counts as defiling when he was pretty happy about it,” Peter said before he could help himself. As much as he enjoyed the way Lyja was looking at him as if she wanted to rip his head off, they were still very much in the middle of the street, and Peter didn’t think New York traffic was going to put up with Lyja’s one woman alien invasion for much longer.

The snide remark had steadied him a little, given him the space to think as he spat the words out. The jokes had always played a dual purpose that way, distracting his opponent while they centered him. He had a fast mouth, Aunt May had always liked to say, but a faster brain.

“Where are you going?” she said as he turned and started walking away.

“The park’s that way,” he said, waving a hand. It was a better place to have this conversation. For one, there were benches. For another, maybe he could pick up an ice cream cart or a tree and hit her with it. “Are you coming or not?”

He didn’t need to look back; his spider-sense let him know that she was following him. Probably with ill intent, if the insistent way his senses were buzzing was any indication, a feeling like someone was resting the point of a knife at the nape of his neck. When he glanced over his shoulder, though, there was no green woman behind him, no flash of emerald hair or skin. He scanned the crowd until he found her, following a reasonable distance behind him, her hair a bright strawberry blond and her skin pale. Peter wouldn’t have noticed her at all if he hadn’t been looking, just another body moving through New York’s bustling pedestrian traffic.

He wondered if this was how Johnny lived, every second of every day Lyja wasn’t in his direct line of sight. Always looking over his shoulder, always searching unfamiliar faces, never sure if he was alone. He remembered the way he’d looked in the diner, picking at straw wrappers and at his fingernails, gaze flitting from booth to booth, and clenched his hands at his sides.

It was a pleasant day, and Central Park was bustling. Peter dodged rollerskaters and joggers with dogs, weaved his way around clearly lost tourists and couples who thought that being in love gave them the right to take up the whole path. On a better day, Peter might have been here, complaining constantly as he shouldered both a picnic basket and his squirming toddler, Mary Jane five steps ahead of him prepared to get in a fight for the best spot on the grass. Maybe Flash and Felicia would join them, Felicia catnapping on the grass while Flash tried very earnestly to explain the rules of touch football to two children under five who could not have cared less. The whole idea seemed infinitely preferable to what he was doing, leading an alien shapeshifter deeper and deeper into Central Park.

But that was why he was doing this – so Johnny could have those moments, too. So Johnny could be part of those moments, with them.

Finally, he deemed the spot far away enough, alone enough, and turned around. Lyja was standing a good five feet behind him. Her borrowed face and body were bland and unassuming – Peter wondered if she’d made them up or modeled them off a real person she had seen somewhere, some ordinary person who had no idea their face was being borrowed – but her feet were planted, her shoulders back. He recognized it as a fighting stance.

“I don’t want to fight,” Peter said. It was a lie; half of his life was spent desperately wanting to get in a fight. Johnny didn’t want him to fight, though, and that had to be good enough for him. “But at least here there won’t be any witnesses. Take off that face.”

To his surprise, Lyja obeyed, and the strawberry blond became green, the nondescript shirt and skirt became purple and gold fabric, and she was Lyja again, looking at Peter with pure hatred.

“You slept with him,” she said. “My Johnny.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I was there.” When Lyja made a wordless noise of rage, he added, “It can’t be that much of a surprise, can it? You knew he was unhappy.”

“I didn’t know!” Lyja defended. “How could I? We were planning the wedding! Everything was perfect!”

“That’s bullshit,” Peter snapped. “Of course you knew. All of New York knew he was unhappy.”

It was an exaggeration, but not much of one. Months ago when word had leaked of Johnny’s engagement to Laura Green, it seemed like every society page and late night talk show in town had buzzed with it. Then time had gone by, and Johnny hadn’t said anything. Had dodged photos and the lime light, turned down appearances on those talk shows, had all but gone into hiding. It should have been the celebrity wedding of the year. Instead it had all but faded into the background, left people wondering if the engagement was even still on.

“I knew he was unhappy,” Peter added stubbornly. He had known, but he hadn’t known until last night just how much, and his heart still ached with the weight of that. “And you know who I am. You know the people I know. I can have the real story splashed across tomorrow’s headline if I want.”

It was a threat he would never actually make good on. For one, Johnny would never forgive him. For another, if Peter swanned up to the top floor of the Bugle and slapped a story about the Human Torch marrying an alien invader up at Niagara Falls on his desk then Jonah would either cry or have some kind of joy-induced cardiac episode and Peter didn’t need that on his conscience.

“Unless I kill you,” Lyja said, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Sure,” Peter agreed. He gestured again to the park around them, the trees, the quiet path some yards away, devoid of people. “You can certainly try.”

For a moment, Lyja seemed to be thinking about it. Peter watched her clench one of her hands into a fist at her thigh and almost wished she’d try it.

Then she looked straight at him and said, “He’d hate me if I did that.”

Oh, so there it is, Peter thought with a grim little twist, not quite humorous. There’s the common ground.

There was a bench a little ways away. He made his way over to it, trusting now that she would follow him. That’s what she did, he was realizing – she followed. She followed Skrull command when it told her to infiltrate the Fantastic Four. She followed Johnny halfway across the country, even when he didn’t want her to. She’d followed the man sleeping with her fiancé into the middle of Central Park just because he’d started walking. Peter filed that bit of information away, thinking – good. Know your enemy and know yourself or whatever.

Harry had always been on him to read that book. Something he’d clearly gotten from his dad. But now Harry, who had known Peter if not himself, was dead, and Peter didn’t really see the point. He wanted to be done with enemies.

The bench was warm from the afternoon sun. Peter could feel the entire city around him sitting here like this, like he was at the center of a web made out of the streets and buildings and trees. He felt Lyja come up behind him, felt her move around to sit on the other side of the bench, as far away from him as she could get while still occupying the same space.

“So,” she said, her voice strained but measured. “What now?”

“He’s leaving you,” Peter said. “That’s what I came to say, before you decided to throw me out a window.”

Lyja slid him a long look that said she’d like to do it again before her gaze fell to the ground.

“I knew that,” she said, after a pause. “That he was – I knew what he intended, when he sent you, smelling of him. That doesn’t answer my question. What does he expect me to do now, without him?”

“Why not go back home?” Peter asked.

“Do you think the Skrull empire would welcome a three times traitor back with open arms?” Lyja asked, staring straight ahead. “I have no home with them. I made a new home, with Johnny.”

Peter thought of Johnny back at his home, in his bed, the way he’d fit so nicely between himself and Mary Jane. The way he and Johnny had been caught up in each other’s orbits for over a decade, ever since they’d been dumb kids, seemingly unable to stay away from each other for very long. Johnny was his home, as much as Mary Jane was, as much as New York was, as much as the house in Forest Hills where he’d grown up.

He was Johnny’s home in turn.

“A home built on a life where you pretended to be someone else,” he said. “Forgive the joke, but that’s a rotten foundation.”

“It didn’t need to be complicated,” Lyja said, a muscle in her green jaw jumping as she clenched her teeth. “If Philip Masters and Ben Grimm hadn’t intervened, I could have kept that form. Johnny and I could have left New York. We could have been happy. He never would have had to know I wasn’t… that woman.” She couldn’t speak Alicia’s name, Peter realized. “Isn’t that the Earth saying? Ignorance is bliss?”

Peter clenched his fingers around the bench’s handrail until the iron started to give way, thinking about Johnny, taken away from his family, from everyone who loved him, miserable and cut off from the world all because Lyja wanted to keep him all to herself, to keep her charade going.

Except it hadn’t been a charade, not really. It had been a mission. And missions had goals. When those goals were accomplished, missions had endings.

“And when Skrull high command pulled you back? When it got to that point?” he asked. “What would they have asked you to do? Cover your tracks? Tie up any loose ends?” He turned to look at her. “Kill him?”

She stared ahead. For a long moment, she said nothing. And then she said, quietly, “I wouldn’t have.”

“But you already tried once,” Peter said. He didn’t bother to keep the harshness from his voice.

He could remember that day perfectly: Johnny, accused of burning down Empire State University, being led in handcuffs through an angry crowd. His head had been down and his shoulders slumped. He’d seemed docile, in spite of the angry jeers that were thrown his way, ashamed but cooperative – accepting his arrest. Until he’d spotted something in the crowd. Peter hadn’t been close enough that day to see what; he’d only learned that it was Lyja later, when Johnny had related the story to Spider-Man. All he’d known in that moment was that, whatever Johnny had seen, it had frightened him badly enough that he’d exploded into flame and flown away.

Oh, Johnny, Peter had thought. What have you done to yourself? But it wasn’t Johnny who had done it, any of it. It hadn’t been Johnny’s fault at all.

“It wasn’t like that,” Lyja said. “I was angry. I thought he’d abandoned me.”

But he hadn’t. Peter didn’t need to know ever little nitty-gritty detail to know that. Johnny never abandoned anyone, no matter how dire the situation, no matter how much better things would be for him if he did. Johnny’s loyalty was a deep, endless well, sweet and often undeserved.

“Well, that makes it so much better then, doesn’t it?” he said, tipping his head back to look at the sky. If he looked at her, he was going to do something terrible. Something that Johnny might not forgive him for. “You wouldn’t try to kill him because you’d been ordered to. Just because you felt like it. Are you gonna try it again now? Since he’s leaving you.”

You won’t get within a mile of him, he didn’t say.

“I don’t want him dead,” Lyja said. “I just wanted him. Is that so wrong? Just to want him, no matter how I got him?”

Peter could count the number of nights he’d lain awake, wishing for Mary Jane beside him. But he’d never followed her across the country. He’d never put on a mask and pretended to be someone else for the sole purpose of having her.

“Yes,” he said, turning to look at her dead on. “It was wrong.”

Lyja looked taken aback, like she hadn’t expected that.

“What did you expect me to say?” he asked. “That you weren’t wrong? That I understand? I don’t. If he told me he never wanted to see me again, I’d go.”

He never wanted to make Johnny feel the way Peter had seen him last night, saying in a shattered voice how he’d tried to leave before. Telling Mary Jane about how it should have been different for him, because he was the Human Torch. If Peter had ever willingly made Johnny feel even a tenth of what Lyja had, he would have taken a long walk off a short pier.

“Where could I go?” Lyja asked, almost earnestly. “What is there for me on this planet but him?”

“So build yourself a spaceship, take off for somewhere new,” Peter suggested, leaning on his elbow as he studied her face. It was strange, he thought, to look at someone who could control every aspect of her appearance and to try and figure out what was real and what was fake. It was strange to think of anyone like that with Johnny, who was unfailingly open, often to his own detriment.

“Build myself a – I’m a Skrull warrior, not an interspace technician,” she said, scowling right back at him.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t know how?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow sharply. Not that he knew how to build a spaceship either, but he only just barely counted as being from a spacefaring race, and besides, he was sure he could figure it out. Johnny could do it, after all.

“You think you have all the answers, don’t you?” Lyja said. “So smug now that you’ve won his attentions. You’re not the only one who’s tried, you know.”

Peter knew. People throwing themselves at Johnny was a regular occurrence when they were out, had been for years, and no engagement – no supposed spouse, for that matter – had ever stopped it. Several times, when they’d been exiting diners or stepping off the crosswalks, Peter’s hand had shot out of its own accord, grabbing some twenty-something by the collar of her shirt just as she’d tried to fling herself bodily onto Johnny, her lips already puckered for a kiss. He had good reflexes like that. He’d shake the girls – so starstruck by Johnny that Peter doubted they’d even seen him until he’d intervened – like wayward kittens, demanding to know who raised them that they’d just throw themselves on people like that. Johnny had laughed and apologize for Peter (“God, Pete, you sound like your aunt.”) and offer the girls autographs. Sometimes, very rarely, a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew there had to be other attempts made, behind closed doors. People with more influence and power than over-excited Human Torch fans on the street. He knew the signs by now – the way Johnny’s smile would grow stiff, like someone had painted it on, his shoulders tense, his laugh controlled, never too loud like when it was real. Peter knew the signs because he’d been watching them for a long time, whenever Johnny was standing next to Lyja.

“I think I’m the only one who’s bothered to ask him what he wants,” he said, not bothering to disguise the anger in his voice.

Lyja rose suddenly, her movements jerky and agitated. Peter watched her as she paced for a moment, wringing her hands, and kept himself very still.

“You’re not the only one who knows things,” Lyja said, finally, and then she turned to face him again.

It took him a moment to understand what was happening. Lyja’s long hair shifted and shrunk, curling up towards her scalp, the color changing from green to brown. Her shoulders broadened as she grew taller, her jaw squaring as the grooves in her chin smoothed themselves out. And before Peter knew it, he was staring at a copy of his own face. But she hadn’t copied his clothes – at least, not the ones he was wearing.

Red fabric, spiderwebbed with black lines, was stretched tight across Lyja’s newly broadened shoulders, continued down the length of her arms. The freshly shifted muscles of her thighs were visible beneath blue spandex. There was a spider emblazoned on her now flat chest.

Lyja hadn’t shifted her shape to match Peter Parker; she’d done it to match Spider-Man. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. His heart, just like every time his identity had been laid bare before him, skipped a beat. It was never something he’d become accustomed to, the unpleasant realization that he was caught, a spider pinned to the mat.

“What did I say about your species being so blitheringly self-centered?” Lyja asked, spreading her arms wide. She smirked at him using his own face, and it looked ugly and twisted. “I’ve known who you were for years, Spider-Man. I knew every time you came skulking around him. First in costume, then out of it, and you were always the same to me. You can mask your face but you can’t mask your scent. Not to a Skrull.”

Slowly, wordlessly, Peter pushed himself up off the bench. He could feel himself start to crack, pressure applied to the right places, but he wasn’t quite there yet. The straw had yet to break his back.

“You humans have such trouble telling people apart,” Lyja continued. “As long as they look like what you’re used to, you don’t ask too many questions, don’t have too many doubts. I could go to Johnny like this and he’d never know the difference. I could be you, Spider-Man, and he’d be happy with that. He’s never really cared, as long as it was Spider-Man, right?”

There it was, the last straw. He was angry about the taking of his face, the abuse of his body and his voice, but he’d had those things stolen from him before, by the Jackal with his clones, by Kraven and his arcane rituals, by the Chameleon who’d stolen his identity and tried to use his daughter to break him. Compared to any of them, Lyja’s shapeshifting was child’s play. But the idea that Johnny had harbored Peter’s identity in his heart, kept it as his own last secret, a little treasured bit of safety Peter hadn’t even known he’d given him, and that Lyja had known all the while and that she would use that against him – that was too much for Peter.

He threw the first punch. Lyja ducked, twisting away, and made to sweep Peter off his feet. With his identity blown, Peter didn’t have to play clumsy, didn’t have to act like he was much slower that he actually was – he dodged the kick easily, met Lyja’s eyes, and raised one hand to beckon her forward.

“Come on,” he said. His voice was hoarse, steely and mean. “Give me something worth getting out of bed with your fiancé for.”

Lyja snarled and launched herself forward. When she hit him, they both went down.

There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that, in his prime, he could have taken her while blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back. But Peter wasn’t in his prime anymore; he hadn’t been Spider-Man for years, and Lyja fought like she had everything to lose.

Peter was the stronger opponent, the better, smarter fighter -- but Lyja was desperate, and that made her dangerous.

He threw caution to the wind, abandoned all logic, and let the hunter take over. It was like slipping back into an old skin, a spider’s body: the world around him sharpened as he forced the both of them over. With Lyja still shifted, their weight was equal. He shouldn’t have had an upper hand there, but Peter knew his body better than Lyja did. He’d fought someone in it before, remembering poor Ben Reilly underneath him.

He didn’t like that memory. Didn’t like the feeling of the iron bar in his hands, didn’t relish how he’d pressed it against Ben’s throat. Didn’t like to remember the muffled voice he’d heard behind him, his blood pounding too loud in his ears for him to make out the words.

Peter was fighting on sheer instinct; instinct had gotten him on top of Lyja, one knee in her stomach and his hands wrapped around her throat. Instinct never failed him.

“Peter! Stop!” a woman’s voice shouted.

Peter snapped back to himself, his fist poised inches away from Lyja’s face – from his own face, staring mirrored back at him with nothing but pure hatred written all over it. As soon as she’d heard the voice she’d shifted again, the red and blue Spider-Man costume melting into his plain turtleneck and jeans. It made them identical to anyone who cared to look.

Peter’s arm trembled with the effort it took not to pull his arm back and finish what he’d started.

There was a familiar pressure in his ears, slightly uncomfortable; one of Sue’s forcefields had closed in around them. Peter set his teeth. Sue had no reason to be here, even with the broken Baxter Building window – as good as she was, she wouldn’t have tracked him down in this amount of time.

But Johnny could follow heat signatures, once he was familiar with someone’s. He was definitely familiar with Peter’s.

“I told you not to come,” he said, not looking back. “I told you, I can handle this.”

There came the sound of feet hitting the ground, as if someone had just jumped from a height. Peter tightened his grip in order to risk a glance over his shoulder; Sue was hovering in the air on an invisible disc, one hand outstretched, her hair whipping around her face. Peter’s gaze slid to Johnny, jogging over to him; he was still dressed in Peter’s clothes, the old ESU shirt and a pair of jeans that were more holes than denim, long since abandoned to the bottom of some drawer. His face was pale, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, I can see how well you’re handling it,” Johnny said. “Peter, get off of her.”

At the sound of Johnny’s voice, Lyja went slack under Peter – but only for a second. Her transformed body strained against his grip harder than before, like she wanted to throw him off, to get at Johnny, and so he pressed down harder, holding her in place.

Peter turned away from him, focusing on Lyja again. He spared one hand from around her throat in able to catch the arm that came swinging for his face. Johnny gasped as Peter grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her arm down to the ground. Six inch long sharp talons had sprouted from each finger of her hand.

“No,” he said, and squeezed until he felt something in that wrist pop. Lyja cried out, a yell in Peter’s voice that sounded nothing like him. He’d never been much of a screamer in a fight.

“Peter, stop!” Johnny said, his voice rising. He fell to his knees besides him – a motion Peter felt and didn’t see – and wrapped a hand around his arm, trying to wrench it away.

But Peter was stronger than Johnny and he didn’t want to let go. He wanted to end this charade now, to tighten his grip until Lyja couldn’t keep his stolen form together anymore, until either she gave it up and returned to her own form – or she died. Whichever came first.

Peter had never choked anyone to death before. But he’d thought about it. He remembered the feeling of the burglar’s throat underneath his hands, the rage that had coursed through him that night alongside the knowledge that powers or no powers he was capable of killing the man beneath him. He had enough hate.

Lyja had her free hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist, sharp claws digging in, but she’d forgotten who she was dealing with. Pain had never been a very good way of motivating Peter to let go. He took some measure of satisfaction in it, in the way she had lost her composure, the desperate scratch of claws against his arms, the way those dark brown eyes -- his dark brown eyes – rolled wildly, searching for help.

“Peter! Let go!” Johnny’s voice was high and panicked, his hands tight around Peter’s bicep. The temperature around them shot up at least ten degrees.

Johnny, Peter reminded himself, the knowledge settling into his bones. Johnny was why he was doing this. Johnny was why he was angry, why he wanted to hurt Lyja – because Lyja had hurt him.

Peter was hurting him right now, too.

Slowly, finger by finger, he got his hands to listen to him enough to let go. Lyja coughed and spluttered, hands at her throat, but Peter felt no sympathy as he sat back on his haunches. Johnny’s hand was still at him arm. Peter finally let himself look at him.

Johnny was still pale, his mouth a determined if trembling line. There were sparks deep in his eyes, dancing little embers, and it comforted something in Peter to see that fire there. He was looking at Peter, not at Lyja, and Peter knew that wasn’t something to be proud of, not right now, but his thinking brain hadn’t yet caught up to his animal instincts.

“This isn’t how I wanted you to handle it,” Johnny said, his voice firm and quiet. Not quiet enough that Lyja couldn’t hear him. She looked up, Peter’s features twisted into an ugly expression on her face.

“Why did you send him?” she demanded, Peter’s stolen voice rough. Good, Peter thought viciously, still thrumming all over with barely reigned in rage. He’d done that to her. He could have done worse, if Johnny hadn’t stopped him. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

“I have told you!” Johnny said, whipping around to look at her. Sparks flew from his eyes, from the tips of his hair and his fingers, spluttering into nothing before they hit the ground. “It doesn’t matter what I say when you never listen to me! What else was I supposed to do?”

“You slept with him!” Lyja said. “You just discarded me like I was nothing!”

She took a step forward and then abruptly stopped as she bumped into a forcefield.

“Susan?” she said, looking betrayed.

“No,” Johnny said, holding up a hand before Sue could reply. “You’re not talking to her, you’re talking to me. I’m the one who asked her to put up the forcefield. I’m the one you’re dealing with now.” He glanced over his shoulder at Peter, his smile wan but real. “It should have been me from the start.”

Peter’s fingers itched to throw Johnny over his shoulder like a sack of flour and swing them far away, somewhere where it was quiet and safe and they could be alone, like the Statue of Liberty. They hadn’t been there in a long time. Peter was going to have to remedy that.

Not today, though. He looked back at Johnny, trying to tell him with just his eyes that he had his back, no matter what. He thought Johnny got it, from the way his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed.

“If you’d told me this was what you wanted, everything could have been fine,” Lyja said, reaching up as if to touch Johnny’s cheek. It made Peter want to be sick, want to rip down the forcefield and tear her hand away from Johnny, but he forced himself to hold still.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Johnny said. He didn’t flinch away, but there was a new steeliness in his voice and in his eyes. Peter wasn’t so self-centered as to think that he had put that there. Johnny had always been strong. If he and Mary Jane had helped to uncover some of that strength, gently unearthed it from where Johnny had buried it deep down inside of himself, that would be enough.

“It could be,” Lyja said. “That form, this voice… if that’s what you want –”

“But I don’t want it from you,” Johnny said. “I want it from him and only him. That’s the difference.”

“You knew which one was him,” Lyja said, something dawning in her voice. “When you first found us. You didn’t hesitate. How? I even matched his body temperature…”

“Well, I could say it was because he was winning, but that would be a lie,” Johnny said, his voice growing soft. “I’ve spent so long with him, not knowing his face, not knowing what he looked like – I could pick him out anywhere. Even when I had my doubts…” He glanced over his shoulder again, smiling at Peter. “He always lets me know it’s him, just by being himself. He’s one of a kind.”

It took a lot to make Peter want to cry. It just wasn’t in him to shed tears easily; life had kicked it out of him as a little kid, when he’d realized his parents weren’t coming back. He got angry long before he ever got sad. Certain things made him misty eyed, though, made him want to cry happy tears. Like the way Mary Jane would smile when she got good news, or the intensely secretive look on Mayday’s face trying to smuggle another macaroni art present past him unseen. Like Johnny calling him one of a kind.

“I don’t think I could ever,” Johnny said, “ever look at someone else and mistake them for him.”

“Well,” Lyja said after a stilted second. “That sets him apart from me, then, doesn’t it?”

“There’s a lot that does,” Johnny said, not unkindly.

“If you don’t like me as him,” Lyja said, “then how about as her?”

She shifted again, her hair tumbling down her back in dark red curls, her smile growing wide and beguiling. There were dimples at her cheeks. Peter’s blood boiled as he looked a copy of Mary Jane. His vision narrowed to that red-lipped smile, the way Lyja’s eyes couldn’t quite capture the warmth of Mary Jane’s. He made to start forward, his hand curled into a fist, but someone caught him by the upper arm, fingernails digging into his arm.

“Peter,” Sue’s voice said in his ear. “Wait. He’s handling it.”

“That’s my wife’s face. I’ll rip her head off for using it,” Peter said, but he held himself still, even though it took every ounce of his strength to do so, just as Johnny said, “Are you trying to get him to kill you?”

“I asked if you liked it,” Lyja said. The sound of her voice was just like Mary Jane’s, but the way she fluttered her eyelashes looked strange, out of place on Mary Jane’s face. Her expression was off, the way she moved Mary Jane’s mouth wrong. Peter would have been able to pick her out as an impostor, if she’d ever approached him in that form. “Not if he did.”

“I won’t talk to you if you don’t shift back,” Johnny said, and Peter could hear the scowl in his voice. “I don’t want to play games, Lyja. I don’t want you looking like him, or her, or anyone else.”

Lyja stared at him for a tense, silent moment, and then she shifted back – green hair and green skin and furrowed chin, her strange Skrull eyes.

“But you don’t want me looking like this, either,” she said coldly. “So tell me what else I am supposed to do, Johnny Storm.”

Johnny took a long, slow breath.

“You’re supposed to go,” he said. “You’re supposed to respect my decision.”

“Yes,” Lyja said with derision, her gaze flitting over Johnny’s shoulder towards Peter. “I see exactly how much your decision it has been.”

“Oh, shut up,” Johnny said. He snapped his fingers, drawing Lyja’s gaze back towards him. “It is my decision, just like it was my decision when I told you the first time that I never wanted to see you again. No more blaming other people, Lyja. It’s over now. It’s all over.”

“Would you have gone through with the wedding?” Lyja asked. “If he hadn’t interfered?”

Johnny seemed to think about it for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, shrugging. “I think maybe I would have. But that would have been a mistake.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have been happy. And I want to be happy.”

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’m going to go?” Lyja asked. “What I’m going to do?”

“It’s better if I don’t,” Johnny said. “For both of our sakes.” He paused and then he said, “I know that I’ve said this before, and that you haven’t listened, but I mean it this time – I don’t want to see you again. Looking like yourself or anyone else. Whether I know it’s you or not.” He took a deep breath and said, “If I see you again, I won’t be so nice next time.”

“Crueler than leaving me?” Lyja demanded from behind the force field. Her face was twisted into a grim sneer. “Crueler than running off into another’s arms? Yes, Johnny Storm. You’ve proved just how kind you can be. I loved you.”

Johnny took a second, visibly steeling himself. His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed out long and slow. Peter almost stepped in, but something made him keep himself very still.

“That’s not love,” Johnny said.

He turned and he walked away, back towards his sister waiting down the path. He didn’t look back.

Peter was indescribably, shatteringly proud of him, and he wanted more than anything to take him in his arms, to kiss him, to tell him how incredible he was. But he wasn’t done yet, either.

The force field still held Lyja in place, keeping the two of them apart. It was too bad, Peter thought. The fight from before had really limbered him up. Lyja watched him as he approached, hatred blazing in her bright green eyes. It had been a long time since someone had looked at Peter like that. He found he’d kind of missed it.

“Well?” she said. “You’re the conquering hero, then. He’s all yours and so grateful for it. Have you come to gloat?”

“If I ever see you again,” Peter told her, holding her gaze, “I won’t stop. Not even if he begs for your life. So keep that in mind.”

She snorted. “You would have made a good Skrull warrior, Spider-Man.”

“Not really,” he said as he turned away, his point made. “I don’t take orders well.”

He didn’t look back as he walked towards Johnny, standing a ways off with Sue.

“If you had only told me you felt like this,” Sue was saying, and Johnny looked like he’d been tightlipped for most of the conversation, but no more.

“Sue, I don’t mean to be harsh,” he said. “But you don’t have a good track record when it comes to defending me from her.”

A line appeared between Sue’s brows, the smallest of confused frowns. “Johnny?”

“It’s just,” Johnny said, a hitch in his breath that went straight to Peter’s heart, “what happened last time. You remember.” His voice sharpened, just slightly. “When I found out she’d lied about the – about the baby. When I quit the team.”

“Oh,” Sue said, with dawning horror. Her hands came up, holding onto his arms. “Oh, Johnny, honey. That was –"

Different. Peter knew what she was going to say. He could read it in the shape of her lips, the expression on her face.

“And I know Reed was gone, and I know you weren’t – that you weren’t all yourself,” Johnny said, squeezing her hands. “But when I said I never wanted to see her again, when I couldn’t take it any longer, when I left the team because I just couldn’t stand to be in the same place as her for one more minute, you invited her to stay. How do you think that made me feel?” He blinked a couple of times, and Peter caught the flash of tears on his eyelashes. “I’m your brother, Sue. You were supposed to stand up for me, not her.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, throwing her arms around him. Johnny embraced her back, his arms tight around her and his face buried in her blonde locks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“I know,” he mumbled, pulling away. He wiped at his eyes. “If I could do everything from back then different – I would. But it’s too much to just let go of right now, Sue. You get that, don’t you?”

“I get it, honey,” she said, reaching up to touch his face again. “And I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. I was – it wasn’t an excuse, what I was going through, not to see that you were suffering too.” She hesitated and then said, “I was just always worried, you know – you had so many girlfriends, but you never stuck with anyone. I guess part of me thought it was just you not being ready to commit.”

“Sue, I thought I was going to marry Crystal when I was nineteen,” Johnny said, wiping at his eyes again. He laughed a little. “I don’t think my “commitment issues” have ever really had anything to do with it.”

“Johnny,” Sue said, taking his face between her hands. She ran a careful thumb underneath his eye. “Come home, baby brother. It’s going to be okay. I promise you I will fix this.”

“I’m actually going to stay somewhere else a while,” Johnny said. He glanced over at Peter, a wariness in his eyes, as if he expected Peter to cut in and say, sorry, last night was fun, but this is too much work.

Peter nodded at him, thinking, you can stay forever. Johnny’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Are you sure, Johnny?” Sue asked, glancing at Peter. There was a world of questions in her brief gaze, and Peter wondered if she knew – how Johnny felt about him, how he felt about Johnny.

Ben had used to joke about it all the time when they were younger, calling them “the loveboids” and asking if they needed alone time. Just jokes, Peter had always told himself, studiously ignoring the way Johnny blushed.

What an utter moron he’d been. Title of his autobiography, probably.

“I’m sure,” Johnny said, forcing a smile. He took Sue’s hands in his own, squeezing them as he said, “I know there’s a lot to talk about. But I just – I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay,” Sue said, frowning. “But you’ll come home and we’ll talk about all of it, when you’re ready.”

“Not if she’s there,” Johnny said. “I mean it this time, Sue.”

“Okay, baby brother,” Sue said, wrapping her arms around him again. “It’s going to be different from now on, I promise.”

Johnny hung back while Sue got Lyja, still contained in her force field bubble, out of Central Park and more importantly away from Johnny. Peter had suggested that maybe she could have just left her there, a force field slapped over her mouth, like some sort of Skrull mime for the tourists, but nobody else seemed to find that thought very funny.

They stood there together, side by side, as Sue disappeared over the trees. Only when Lyja was completely out of sight did Johnny sigh, rocking back on his heels with his hands tucked into his pockets and his faced turned up to the sun. He stayed there like that for a long moment, until Peter reached over and touched his elbow.

“What’d you say to her?” Johnny asked, glancing over at him with a small smile. “When you went over to her, while I was talking to Sue.”

“Nothing,” Peter said. “Not to come back.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Johnny asked. He looked tired, the kind of tired Peter knew got right down to your bones.

“I could’ve taken her,” Peter said, a touch grouchily, as he lowered himself to the ground. It had been a long time since he’d been in a fight but even longer since he’d effectively lost one. He was tired, too, more emotionally than physically, although his leg hurt like hell. He wanted to go home, check in with Anna, and then take advantage of the rest of her babysitting time to see if three adults could fit semi-comfortably in his bathtub. Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

Then after that he wanted to wrap Johnny up in a quilt and tuck him into bed and keep him sandwiched there, in between himself and Mary Jane, until some of the hurt in Johnny’s eyes went away.

“Oh, shut up,” Johnny said, throwing himself down next to Peter. He sagged to the side like his strings had been cut, laying his head against Peter’s shoulder and working his hand into the crook of his arm. His fingers were trembling, just slightly, and so Peter covered his hand with his own.

“S’okay, hot stuff,” Peter said, stroking his thumb roughly over Johnny’s knuckles. “It’s over now.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” Johnny said quietly.

“How does it feel?” Peter asked.

“Strange,” Johnny said, the corner of his mouth twisting – not quite a grimace, not quite a smile. “Uncomfortable. I kind of want to cry.”

“You can cry,” Peter said.

“I also kind of want to throw up,” Johnny admitted.

“Try to aim away from me,” Peter said. He reached out and tugged Johnny against his side, sank his fingers into his hair and just held him, letting out a long shuddering breath of his own.

“I got you,” he said. “It’s okay. I got you now.”

“You’ve got me? Who’s got you?” Johnny asked, simultaneously sounding sick and snide. Peter snickered, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m pretty sure Mary Jane will kill me if I don’t bring you home with me,” Peter said, resting his cheek on top of Johnny’s head. His hair was always soft and so warm, like he’d been out in the sun for hours no matter what time of day. Peter dug his fingers soothingly into the tense muscles of Johnny’s shoulder and added, before anyone could accuse him of being too sappy, “I mean, I won’t watch Keeping Up with the Kingpin with her.”

Johnny snorted. “God, you suck so bad.”

“Sucks for you, then, ‘cause you love me,” Peter told him, pulling him just a tiny bit closer.

Johnny was quiet for a long moment before he said, “I do, you know. I do love you.”

Peter squeezed him around the shoulders.

“Come on, firefly,” he said, turning his face to plant a kiss at the side of Johnny’s head. “Let me take you home.”

“Aren’t you going to help carry anything?”

“I’m busy,” Johnny said. He was lying on his stomach on the living room floor, helping Mayday arrange her dinosaur toys in order by color. How half of them had ended up neon green and pink, Peter would never know, but he was sure Mary Jane was behind it.

“Uh-huh,” Peter said, hefting what he was pretty sure was a box full of designer shoes up higher. “I have one good leg, you know.”

“What’s this one called?” Johnny asked May, picking up a violently purple dinosaur. He didn’t even bat an eye in Peter’s direction.

May chewed on her lip for a moment, a serious look on her little face before she very carefully and decisively said, “Triceratops.”

It was a pterodactyl. Peter rolled his eyes skyward.

“Alright!” Johnny said, holding up his hand for a high five.

“I know you know better,” Peter told him, carrying the box past Johnny and May and down the hall towards the bedroom. “You’ve only met dinosaurs before.”

“I don’t believe in stifling a child’s creativity,” Johnny said as Peter came back, sans box. He was lying on his back now, patiently letting May enact a dinosaur battle on the flat planes of his stomach. Peter was so in love with him that it hurt, but he could take it. He was tough that way. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“They’re your things, hot stuff,” Peter said. “You want to hurry things up, you’d better get off your ass –” he cut himself as off as Mary Jane took that moment to appear in the doorway, a duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. “—Partame. Aspartame. You know that fake sugar stuff’s bad for you, Torch.”

“Nice save, tiger,” Mary Jane said archly. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Keep it up and our toddler will have the best vocabulary in her class.”

“That’s the goal, MJ,” Peter said, unslinging the bag from her shoulder. “Education, education, education.”

Peter couldn’t say he hadn’t had any reservations about Johnny moving in. It was just that he knew what Johnny’s world was like. Peter loved his life, but he saw it for what it was: his aunt’s house in Forest Hills with the peeling paint on the ceiling he kept meaning to repaint. Mary Jane working so hard to get the boutique off the ground that sometimes she forgot to eat. Mayday, who was going through a phase where she screamed as much as she talked. And then there was Peter.

Peter, working at the Bugle again, back in grad school for the third time. Peter, who was no longer Spider-Man.

It wasn’t that Peter thought Johnny would love him less for any of that. It was just that a tiny part of him thought he might come to his senses. Peter wouldn’t have begrudged him for that. Johnny was a star; Peter had always had one foot planted firmly on the ground.

But it didn’t happen like that, like the pessimistic little piece of Peter had dreaded. From the first day, Johnny had fit in their lives, just like he’d fit in their bed.

“See, tiger,” Mary Jane had said to him, flashing him a smile. He hadn’t told her any of his fears, but somehow she’d known anyway. “You worry way too much.”

She was right, but then she almost always was.

He and Johnny had spent eight hours the other day hotwiring a version of Reed’s Skrull detection system into the house. Mayday had helped by handing Peter a plastic cowboy every time he asked her for a screwdriver. They’d done a pretty good job of it, too, despite a good half an hour where Peter was sure they’d somehow managed to only program the dishwasher to detect alien life. A good job, and a rewarding one – not just for Johnny’s peace of mind, but for Mary Jane’s, too.

(“I’ve got a list of approved space aliens allowed to get near my daughter before she’s 15, 30 years old,” Mary Jane said. “Don’t make me put it on the fridge.”)

Besides, Peter thought that he could probably reverse engineer Mr. Fantastic’s inventions with Johnny every day of his life and only want to strangle him a little bit. That was real love.

Johnny said he wasn’t ready to go back to the Baxter Building yet, and Peter couldn’t blame him. He had talked to Ben, though. He’d stood out on the porch late at night with his phone trapped between his shoulder and his ear to tell Ben and Alicia that the wedding was off.

“Don’t listen in, tiger,” Mary Jane had told Peter, slipping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his shoulder. “He’ll tell us if he wants to.”

Peter hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop, not really. He was just – watching, to make sure everything was okay. Johnny said everything was fine when he came back inside, but his eyes were a little red and his smile was a little shaky, and Peter had to take his face between his hands and kiss him until he was really smiling again.

Sue had offered to bring Johnny’s things over from the Baxter Building, but Peter had had an itch to go see himself. To make sure Lyja was no longer there, lurking around some corner. Mary Jane went with him, ostensibly to help Peter carry boxes but probably because she wanted to see, too.

Johnny had put up an argument at first, and then relented with an, “At least take my car,” tossing the keys to Mary Jane, whose eyes had lit up at the thought of Johnny’s cherry red convertible.

(“I can drive,” Peter pointed out to him.

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, I know. I taught you. She drives my car.”)

The trip to the Baxter Building had been tense, but not – bad, Peter thought. Lyja was nowhere to be seen, all her things cleared out from Johnny’s floor of the building. It made something hard and angry crystalize in Peter’s chest, looking at the empty spaces that should have never been allowed to be filled in the first place, but he swallowed down the words that threatened to rise at Mary Jane’s warning look. She talked to Sue, sitting at the kitchen counter and showing her photos on her phone of Johnny playing with Mayday while Peter packed up Johnny’s things.

“She’s not going to be coming back,” Sue said, as they prepared to leave. She stood there by the elevators, a mug of tea in her hands and a steely look in her eye. “Lyja. I made sure of it.”

Peter hesitated a moment, a host of questions battling it out on the tip of his tongue.

Finally he just turned and said, “Good.”

“Will you tell Johnny?” Sue asked. She looked tired, and a little anxious, a hint of shadows beneath her eyes. “I’ve told him but… I don’t think he believes it right now, coming from me.” She shrugged a little. “Right now I don’t blame him.”

“There’s nothing to blame him for, now or later,” Peter said. “None of this was his fault.”

Mary Jane’s hand came to rest at his back, a soft and silent easy, tiger.

“I’ll tell him,” he said.

If Sue knew what was going on, she kept it to herself, but Peter could tell she wasn’t happy about it. He’d felt her eyes on his back as they’d left, Johnny’s things piled into the backseat of the car.

Too bad for her, he thought, watching Johnny play dinosaurs with May. She’d get over it eventually. It was Johnny’s feelings Peter had to safeguard now.

“Hey,” Peter said, lowering himself to the ground next to Johnny. Johnny rolled toward him, face pink and smile delighted, his blue eyes shining. “You happy, hot stuff?”

“Ecstatic,” Johnny replied, grinning up at him. Then he ‘oof’ed as Peter’s daughter stabbed him in the side with a plastic pirate sword and Peter was promptly forgotten in favor of Johnny clutching his chest and swooning dramatically to the side.

“Yeah,” Peter said, watching them with fondness. Mary Jane slipped in beside him, a welcoming weight against his side, as he added, “Me too.”