Archive of Our Own

1.

“I’m telling you, she sets off my spider-sense.”

“Oh, sure,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “The blind artist is setting off your danger sense, that sounds totally reasonable. Meanwhile, I tell you not to eat at that diner off 2nd and what do you do?”

“One time,” Peter said. He’d shed the mask, so Johnny got to appreciate the deeply ridiculous scowl on his face. “Or five times. Whatever. The point is, I don’t think this little affair of the complete lack of common sense is a good idea, Torchy. I mean, Ben’s girl?”

“She’s not Ben’s girl!” Johnny said, scowling right back. “She’s her own person. What are you, stuck in the 1960s? We’re adults –” here, Peter snorted, and Johnny kicked him “—and it’s our decision! Mine and hers, not Ben’s, and not your stupid personal alarm system's!”

“Alright, alright,” Peter said, holding his hands up in front of him. “Message received. I just wanted to let you know before she turns out to be a robot or a Skrull or a sentient swarm of bees or something…”

Johnny muttered something deeply unkind about Peter’s parentage, digging around in his fridge. Peter’s stupid spider-sense let him lob a can of soda directly at his head, at least; Peter snatched it out of the air without so much as blinking. He cracked it open and downed half of it in one go.

As always, Johnny fought not to watch the way the long, tan line of his throat worked, repeating Alicia, Alicia, Alicia stubbornly in his mind.

Peter Parker hadn’t been such a problem when he’d first unmasked and joined the Fantastic Four, turning them into the Fantastic Five. He’d been fifteen to Johnny’s worldly sixteen-going-on-seventeen, and his hair had been stupid, and he’d still bothered pretending with his dorky round glasses. His clothes had been terrible and ill-fitting and he hadn’t been much to look at even in a skintight costume, a string bean, all elbows and knees.

And then he’d had to go and grow up, broad-shouldered and lanky in a way that was the opposite of awkward. He’d learned to stop trying to tame the mask hair, ditched the glasses, found out where to buy jeans that actually fit. His nose had been broken and healed a little crooked and somehow that only served to make him hotter. He had abs Johnny could have done laundry on. The very first time Johnny had seen him with stubble he’d actually dropped an armful of textbooks.

He was smart, too, smart enough to keep up with Reed. And funny. And he loved Johnny, in his own teasing, merciless way. He’d fought armies for Johnny. Real, actual armies. Mostly made of Moloids, but they were armies all the same. Johnny knew he’d do it again, if he needed him.

If someone asked Johnny to describe the perfect man, he would have broken out one of his own photoshoots. But if someone asked Johnny to describe the perfect man under truth serum? It would be Peter.

“You know what this is really about, right?” Johnny said, cracking open his own soda.

“Um, the fact that I can’t see you go starry-eyed over Ms. Marble without this fun little buzz in my head?” Peter said. “Danger, danger, Jonathan Storm!”

“It’s because you broke up with that hot cat burglar,” Johnny said, pointing one finger at Peter. “You’re just jealous I can see romance on the horizon when you’ve been dumped again.”

“Felicia and I broke up by mutual agreement,” Peter said. Johnny raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms and Peter muttered something under his breath. “Anyway, no, that’s completely besides the point. It’s not a jealousy sense, if it was –”

He shut his mouth abruptly, looking away, and Johnny perked up.

“What?” he said. “If it was what?”

Peter muttered something again.

“What?” Johnny pressed. “Because – are you jealous of me? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re into her too, aren’t you? That’s what the whole big show about me dating Ben’s ex is! I swooped in before you could make your own move! Spidey, you hypocrite –”

“Gaaah!” Peter said, throwing his hands up briefly and waving them like he wanted to strangle Johnny, a distinct possibility. He crossed the room and grabbed Johnny, one arm around his waist as he dipped him so low Johnny was dizzy with it and sealed their mouths together.

As first kisses went, it was extremely memorable, right down to the part where he squeaked and attempted to hit Peter over the head and Peter, a man possessed of superhuman grace, promptly dropped him onto the floor.

“There!” he said, staring down at Johnny, red in the face and breathing hard.

“What the fuck!” Johnny yelled back, getting up on his elbows. “Did you just kiss me?”

“I did,” Peter said, grabbing him by the hands and pulling back onto his feet. “Because it’s not a jealousy sense. Because if it was, it would have gone off around Frankie, and Crystal, and that blue girl from Planet X!”

“The Fifth Dimension,” Johnny corrected automatically.

“I just do not care,” Peter shot back. “It’s not you I’m jealous of – it’s you I’m jealous over. Okay?”

Johnny couldn’t think. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Tried to come up with words other than bzuh. His lips tingled.

“I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” he said.

Peter burst out laughing in an only mildly hysterical way.

“Yeah,” he said, still holding Johnny’s hands. His palms were warm through his gloves. Johnny liked the way their fingers fit together. “That would be just my luck, wouldn’t it?”

“You kissed me,” Johnny said, still reeling.

“And now I think I might have given you a concussion,” Peter said. His gaze softened. “Yeah, Johnny. I kissed you.”

Slowly, Johnny broke Peter’s grip. Peter looked resigned, and then surprised when Johnny put his hands on his shoulders instead. Johnny tilted his head and brushed their mouths together – soft, tentative. But there were definitely sparks. For a few moments they just kissed, standing in the middle of Johnny’s loft with the sunlight pouring down around them.

“How long?” Johnny asked. He couldn’t seem to get his voice to rise above a whisper. Peter’s hands found his hips, his grip grounding, the only thing keeping him from flaming on and leaving gravity far behind.

“Not long,” Peter said, shaking his head. “When’d you get hot again?”

Johnny punched him in the arm. He put his head down against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter slid his arms around him. It felt different. It felt new. And then he remembered Alicia, and the way she’d kissed him, too, chaste but – meaningful. He bit his lip.

After a minute, he looked up at Peter.

“I need,” Johnny said, breaking off. It was hard to think with Peter staring at his mouth like that.

Peter hummed and nodded, hands flexing at his hips, mumbling, “Yeah you do.”

Johnny shoved him, not very hard. Not that he could’ve moved Peter, if Peter didn’t want to be moved. He shivered a little, pleasant, thinking about all of Peter’s strength.

“I need some time,” he said, hands at Peter’s solid chest, “to think about things. You. Alicia. Okay?”

This time he meant it when he pushed Peter away. Peter stepped back obligingly, sighing a little as he let go of Johnny.

“Yeah, hot stuff,” he said. “Take all the time you need. You know I’m not going anywhere. Except right out that window, anyway.”

“You’re not serious,” Johnny said. Peter found where he’d left his mask and started to pull it back on. Johnny felt a little hollow at the sight. “You’re serious.”

“If I stay, I’m just going to kiss you again,” Peter said. “Hey, you want time? I’ll give you time. But now I’ve gotta go work off this nervous energy, maybe punch a winged old man in the face.”

His grin disappeared behind red spandex as he forced open a window. Johnny moved towards him as he slung one leg over it.

“Be careful, at least,” he said.

“Sure,” Peter said, teasing. “My specialty.”

Then he was gone, swinging away. Johnny leaned against the window and sighed.

“Hey,” Peter said, reappearing; Johnny jumped. “Just one thing to put in the check box for me: I’ve never set off my own spider-sense.”

Then he dove. Johnny leaned halfway out his own window trying to spot him. Peter, crouched on the ground and scaring the tourists, tossed him a lazy salute. Johnny imagined the wild grin under the mask. He remembered those lips pressed to his own, and had to curl his hands around the windowsill to keep from touching his fingertips to his mouth.

“Think about it!” Peter yelled.

“You’re such a jerk!” Johnny shouted down, laughing.

2.

The first thing Peter noticed was the blond with the long legs in the backroom club. That kind of thing had gotten him in trouble before. There had been no reason for him to think it wouldn’t get him in trouble again.

The blond’s name was Johnny Storm, and his sister had vanished. He was looking for the Spider-Man to find her, and getting himself into some dangerous places to do so. Peter wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with anyone, but even he tended to give the Yancy Street Gang a wide berth.

Still, he had always liked a bold one. Especially when they had a pretty face.

“Alright, kid,” he said, tipping his hat Storm’s way. “You got yourself the Spider-Man. I’ll find your sister for you.”

It didn’t take Peter very long to get a lead: one Peter Petruski, a young inventor who worked with adhesives. Peter flicked his own wrist, spider silk spinning out, and thought about how he didn’t like someone muscling in on his gimmick.

Petruski had a dingy little set-up. He was out when Peter slipped in through his window, so Peter rooted through his things for a while, hoping for a nice little clue. When he couldn’t find anything, he settled down at the kitchen table to wait.

Eventually, there were voices in the hall. Peter recognized one of them. He rose before the door opened and Johnny Storm was pushed into the apartment. Petruski followed, gun drawn and pointed square at Johnny’s chest.

Peter didn’t wait; he webbed the gun, yanking it from Petruski’s grip, and grabbed Johnny, pulling him behind himself.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded at Johnny, ignoring all Petruski’s cursing. Petruski tried for the door, so Peter webbed that, too.

“I – I heard he was seen with someone who looked like Sue!” Johnny said, his hands fisted in the back of Peter’s coat. “I tried to follow him, but he caught me. What are you doing here?”

“I, incredibly, heard the same thing, so I staked out his apartment,” Peter said. “Which is what you hired me to do in the first place.”

“Well I didn’t know if you would actually do it!” Johnny said.

Petruski was eyeing the window now. Peter grabbed him by the collar, reeling him in until they were nearly nose-to-mask.

“What did you talk about with Susan Richards?” Peter asked. “Where is she?”

“Susan Richards?” Petruski said. “Whaddaya want with an invisible woman?”

Peter slammed him back against the wall. Hard.

“Don’t hurt him!” Johnny said, grabbing his arm. “Not if he knows where Sue is!”

“Hurting him is how I find out if he knows where your sister is!” Peter said, shrugging him off effortlessly. “You might want to wait in the hall if you’re the squeamish type.”

Johnny backed off a step, but he didn’t leave. Peter took it to mean he wouldn’t interfere again.

“Alright, alright!” Petruski said, struggling helplessly in Peter’s grip. “Who said anything about hurting people, huh? I’m just an inventor. I make paste, for the luvva -- I’ll talk already, just let go.”

“You talk, then I let go,” Peter growled. “And you don’t so much as look at him, understand?”

“You soft on him or something?” Petruski muttered. Peter flipped him around, shoving his face into the wall. Petruski swore viciously. “Alright, alright. I don’t know the lady, alright? Not really. I just heard the rumors. Then she comes up to me a few days ago and she asks me about the damndest thing –”

“What?” Johnny cut in, pale and anxious. “What did she say?”

“Who’s asking the questions here, huh?” Peter said to him. He turned his attention back towards Petruski. “What’d she ask you, Paste Pot Pete?”

“Ah, geez, I really hate that –” Peter tightened his grip; Petruski yelped. “Clay! She asked me about some damn magic clay, alright? Wanted to know if I heard of anybody selling the stuff.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder; there was nothing but confusion on Johnny’s face.

“Magic clay, huh?” Peter muttered. A few years ago he would’ve scoffed, but that was before the spider. “What’d you tell her?”

“I said, oh sure, lady, and then gave her the address of a guy selling some magic beans,” Petruski said. “Magic clay! Whaddaya think I said?”

“And that’s all?” Peter said. “She walked away, you never saw her again?”

“Spider-Man, I swear, I wish I’d never seen her in the first place,” Petruski said. “The invisible woman. Damn. No. She left. I went home. That kid tries to follow me down a dark alley and then I find you in my apartment. That’s the whole story.”

Peter let him go. Petruski fell to his knees.

“I’ll be back if I find out you were lying,” Peter said conversationally, cracking his knuckles.

“What do I have to lie about?” Petruski grumbled. “All this because some lady with a couple too many bats in the attic asks me about magic fucking clay. Why are you looking for her, huh? What’s she got on you?”

He got to his feet. Peter tracked his every movement, but he only went to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle, sloshing a shaky amount into a glass for himself.

Peter glanced at Johnny, wondering the same himself – what reason did a woman like Susan Richards have to vanish into thin air? But Johnny just shook his head, looking more miserable than he had when Petruski’d had a gun pointed at him.

“You know,” Petruski muttered to himself. “It’s the damndest thing. But I’d swear the broad was blind.”

“What?” Johnny said, turning sharply in his direction.

Peter’s senses blared a split-second before the shot rang out. He threw himself onto Johnny, knocking him to the ground as the bullet struck Petruski and he crumpled to the ground. Johnny gasped, craning his neck to look. Peter had to force him down as he peered at the broken window himself.

The part of him that was more spider than man told him the gunman wasn’t gone.

“We have to go,” he told Johnny.

“Is he –” Johnny said, swallowing hard. Peter wondered if it was the first dead body he’d ever seen. He dragged Johnny to his feet and forced him through the door, hurtling them both towards the fire escape. He braced one foot on the iron, grabbed Johnny around the waist, and swung them both away.

It was cold up on the rooftop when Peter finally felt they were far away enough, and Johnny was shivering. Peter longed to go back, to poke around at the scene, but he couldn’t just leave Johnny alone up on a roof. He was losing time. He had no choice.

He sighed, long and low, and stripped off his coat. He dropped it onto Johnny’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Johnny said, pulling it around himself.

“I take it your sister’s not blind?” Peter said, settling down next to him.

“Not last time I saw her, no,” Johnny said. “And I don’t know why Sue would be asking about magic clay. I don’t know why she’d be doing any of this.”

Peter nodded to himself. “I believe you.”

“Glad someone does,” Johnny said. “The police don’t.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky I tend to disagree with them,” Peter said. “Was that your first dead man?”

There was a long pause before Johnny answered. “No.”

“Hey,” Peter said. “I’m going to take care of it. I promised, didn’t I?”

Johnny huddled in his coat, shoulders drawn up. “And my sister promised she wouldn’t leave me. I don’t know a whole lot of people who keep their promises, Spider-Man.”

He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was because he looked so sad. Maybe it was because Johnny didn’t know Peter Parker, had no reason to recognize his face. Maybe it was just because he wanted to.

He slipped off the goggles, tossed the mask to the side. The breeze was cool against his face. Johnny turned his head to look at him.

“Oh,” he said, surprised, and then they were kissing, hot and hungry in the fading light of the sunset.

“Oh,” Peter echoed, as Johnny touched his face and stared into his eyes, mouth red and face pink. Peter adjusted his jacket over Johnny’s shoulders. “I promise you. I’m going to take care of it.”

3.

Spider-Man tasted like powdered sugar and fried dough.

Johnny hadn’t meant to kiss him, but he’d come back to the lab with Johnny to clean up with a minimal amount of complaining, and he’d done all the heavy lifting, and he’d stuck around when Johnny had mentioned offhand that, even though the boardwalk was closed for construction, he knew a place that made great funnel cake and, oh yeah, they delivered.

It wasn’t like he had made Spider-Man roll up his mask to eat. (He had. His exact words had been “How are you supposed to eat with that thing on your face?”)

Spider-Man had gotten powdered sugar everywhere, and he’d licked his lips and said, “Did I get all of it?”

Johnny leaned in and kissed him, quick and jittery, aware the whole time of how warm he was, how strong.

It was the first time he’d kissed a boy.

“Got it now,” he said, licking sugar off his own lips. He couldn’t see his eyes, but the bottom half of Spider-Man’s face had gone red and blotchy in a blush.

“Did you just,” Spider-Man said, voice cracking a little. His lips formed silent words for a second before he snapped his jaw shut.

Johnny dropped his gaze, picking at the remains of his own cake.

“Were we not flirting today?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Were we what,” Spider-Man said, voice very high and very flat at the same time. Johnny cringed.

“Okay!” he said. “Okay, just – let’s pretend that never happened. Can we do that? If you can pretend I never turned all the TVs in Reed’s lab to MTV and accidentally IM’d a forty-story tall monster to Coney Island, I think you can pretend that I never –”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A gloved hand grabbed his face and turned it towards Spider-Man, and then there were lips over his.

It lasted only a second, but it was one of the best seconds of Johnny’s life. His stomach was full of giddy butterflies.

Spider-Man pulled back and yanked his mask down over his face, anonymous again. Tentatively, he reached out and put his gloved hand over Johnny’s. When Johnny flipped his palm over, Spider-Man laced their fingers together.

“Okay,” Spider-Man said.

“Yeah?” Johnny said, grinning.

“Yeah,” Spider-Man agreed. “But no more MTV aliens.”

4.

They pulled down the sun in the end.

It was a tactical decision, they both said, to plunge Doom’s world back into the dark. An easy way to instill fear. Peter had always been good at that, when he wanted to be. No more Mr. Nice Spider.

He and Reed both knew they were lying. The truth of it was that neither of them could stand to look at Johnny burning in the sky one more day. If this was the end, then at least they’d save Johnny. Even if just for a few days, they’d save Johnny. It would have to be enough.

Johnny was weak and confused and he didn’t recognize him. Peter knew not to be surprised after Valeria, but it still stung. He let Peter hold him, though. Johnny was cool to the touch and pliant in Peter’s arms, two things Peter was unused to. Peter couldn’t close his eyes without thinking about the life raft splitting apart, and Johnny falling away from him.

It was worse for Reed. Peter could see it in how tight he was holding himself, the clench of his jaw. The way he dropped his hands to his sides when Johnny flinched away from him. The way he looked away, a man who defined himself by his family suddenly stripped of all of them.

And then there was Peter, so stupidly grateful that Johnny let him hold him instead.

“You’re warm,” Johnny murmured, voice all hazy. “I missed warm. Did my sister send you?”

“Something like that,” Peter said, humming a little. If Sue had been herself, she wouldn’t have stopped at anything to save her brother. Peter knew that; it didn’t make the situation hurt less.

He was leaning back against the raft’s wall, letting Johnny rest against him. One reason behind stealing Doom’s sun had been how useful Johnny could be in a fight. That was off the table now.

(“I didn’t know,” Reed had said, hoarse. “That he could burn like that. I didn't know.”)

“I knew she wouldn’t leave me there forever,” Johnny said dreamily.

He tried not to think about what it meant, that Johnny trusted him like this, even when he didn’t remember him. He told himself that it was just because Doom had burnt him down to cinders, but part of him knew that wasn’t true. There had never been a time Johnny hadn’t believed in him, even when they’d been kids at each other’s throats.

Peter was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of this patchwork planet. Tired of missing people.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he said. “Once upon a time, there was a stupid kid who thought he knew everything, and he got bit by a radioactive spider.”

“This is a weird story,” Johnny said, but he seemed content to lounge against Peter and listen, his eyes drifting shut.

“Yeah, it is,” Peter said, laughing for the first time in – he didn’t know how long. Days or years, depending on how he counted. “So let me tell it, alright? There was this boy, and he just – he thought he could do anything, after that. That he couldn’t be beaten.”

He played idly with one of Johnny’s hands, rubbing his thumb against the delicate skin of his wrist.

“Was he wrong?” Johnny asked after a moment too long, Peter’s eyes prickling as he tried to remember how to speak. It had been so many years ago – half a lifetime – but he could still remember every detail. The sharp sting of Otto’s slap, the crushing defeat he’d felt. The dew on the grass underneath his palms, seeping through his gloves.

“Oh, was he wrong,” Peter said, laughing. It was funny now, in the face of so many bigger defeats. But he’d been a kid. An angry kid, who had suddenly gotten super strength, and felt like because of that nobody could ever push him around again, and Otto had humiliated him. “But then there was this other boy – no, there was this prince.”

Johnny at sixteen had looked like a fairy tale prince, there was no denying that. The curl in his hair, the glimmer of his eyes, that sky blue costume – Peter hadn’t known how to act around a boy that pretty.

In hindsight, attacking him with a web bat in front of his girlfriend probably hadn’t been the best way to express himself.

“The prince looked straight at the stupid kid and he told him that he couldn’t give up,” Peter said. “No matter what, that he couldn’t give up. And then the stupid kid went out and slew the evil octopus and never, ever forgot what the prince told him.”

And they lived happily ever after, he wished he could say.

“And that’s why he gets back up,” he said instead, closing his eyes briefly. “Every time, he gets back up.”

Johnny sighed wistfully. “That’s a nice story. Confusing, but nice.”

“Mmhmm,” Peter hummed, snaking his arms around Johnny. “I always thought so.”

It didn’t seem fair, when Johnny didn’t know who he was – when Johnny didn’t know. But Peter wasn’t sure anymore if he’d ever get another chance. How many times had Peter wondered what he’d do, with just one more chance?

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Johnny blinked at him, and then he smiled.

“Okay,” he said, twisting in the circle of Peter’s arms. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

It did. One kiss, at the end of every world. Peter tipped Johnny’s chin up with two fingers and brushed their lips together, slow and sweet.

“Alright,” he breathed, putting his forehead down against Johnny’s. “Time to get back up.”

5.

Johnny decided to throw Peter a party for his thirtieth birthday. Peter immediately told him no, nyet, and never, which only meant Johnny went behind Peter’s back, first to Harry, then to Mary Jane, and then finally to Peter’s aunt.

Peter never stood a chance.

He walked into his apartment that evening and it was like a Party City had exploded. Immediately, he had confetti in his hair.

“Surprise!” Johnny yelled, echoed by the crowd of people lurking behind Peter’s furniture.

“Or something,” Peter said, brushing little pieces of paper off his shoulder. They were tiny spiders mixed in with them. He held one up to Johnny.

“The store was out of everything but Halloween,” he said without batting so much as an eyelash. Peter was going to have words with him later.

For now, though – for now, Harry was grabbing him under the arm and dragging him towards the center of the apartment, where his aunt was waiting with cake, and Mary Jane was giving him that knowing smile. Betty Brant was three sheets to the wind already, laughing at something Jonah had said – something that wasn’t supposed to have been funny, if Jonah’s face was anything to go by. Robbie clapped him on the back, smirking. Liz was seated on the couch, chatting with Cindy and Anna Maria, and Miles Morales stood in a corner, looking confused and holding Danielle Cage while Luke and Jessica danced. Bobbi raised a glass Peter’s way before resuming her conversation with Gloria Grant. Hell, Johnny had even managed to find Jill Stacy – Peter had lost contact with her after the split with MJ.

It was everyone Peter loved, under one roof.

“You’re unbelievable,” he told Johnny, who had the audacity to laugh at him.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he whispered. “Enjoy your stupid party, Peter.”

The crazy thing was, Peter did. He let it all go – the stress from both his jobs, the perpetual weight of the world on his shoulders, the half a dozen looming threats he worried about at all times, they all just disappeared for the evening. He laughed a lot, and he danced with everybody, even Luke, making Jessica and Mary Jane laugh at them when they both kept trying to lead. He dipped Jonah, something he always got a kick out of.

“You’re fired,” Jonah told him.

“I don’t work for you anymore,” Peter said, grinning down at him. He loved to watch that mustache bristle.

“Well, I’m hiring you so I can fire you,” Jonah said. “Analog! Tell him he’s fired.”

“You’re fired!” Cindy yelled from her spot on the couch. She didn’t even look up from her phone.

It was the best night Peter had had in so long. He couldn’t stop laughing, even after he’d sent his aunt, Anna Watson and Mary Jane home in a cab, even after Harry and Liz had left together. Not when Robbie hugged him good night and left with Jonah, or after he’d dumped a sleeping Betty on his bed and clicked the door shut, or when he caught Miles and Cindy leaving through separate windows.

“Good party, man,” Luke said, knocking his fist against Peter’s shoulder as he and Jessica left, Dani sleeping with her face pressed against Jessica’s shoulder.

And then it was over. No drop-in from the Vulture. Kraven’s long lost first cousin twice removed hadn’t kicked down the door. No party guest had secretly been the Chameleon, and Mysterio hadn’t provided any additional entertainment. There hadn’t been a tingle from his spider-sense all night.

“What’s that look on your face for?” Johnny asked, the last person besides Peter awake in the apartment. He was cleaning up, picking up glasses, throwing away trash. Peter bent to help him clear the coffee table.

“Just wondering how you pulled it off,” he said. “One whole night – one whole, amazing night, and not one thing went wrong. You beat the Parker Luck.”

“Maybe I’m just special,” Johnny said, shrugging.

“Must be,” Peter said. “Wonder why that is?”

Johnny was quiet for a moment, picking up a glass and filling it with the last of the champagne.

“You think I don’t remember, right?” he said at last, staring sharp-eyed at Peter over the rim of his glass.

“Remember what?” Peter asked, feeling, inexplicably, like he’d walked into some kind of a trap. Scratch the supervillain fears – of course they hadn’t ruined the night, not when his own personal menace had been in the apartment the whole time.

At least he was much nicer to look at than all the rest of the rabble, dressed down in tight jeans and a red t-shirt.

“I didn’t, for a while,” Johnny said, shrugging. “And after that I wasn’t sure if you remembered. But then I talked to Victor.”

“Vic – as in Doom?” Peter said. “What the hell are you talking to Dr. Doom for?”

“I was having all these dreams,” Johnny said, busying himself with the coffee table again. “Just – confusing. Jumbled up. Like I was me, but I wasn’t. They were nice dreams, though.” He glanced up. “You were kissing me in all of them.”

Peter had shrugged off falling buildings with more grace than he felt hearing that.

“And they were all different,” Johnny continued, as if he hadn’t just left Peter reeling. “We’re kids on the boardwalk and I don’t know who you are but I’m so in love with you… We're up on a rooftop, and you’re this mysterious, scary guy, but you’re helping me. You’re with the Fantastic Four, but not – not like when I gave you the team. Before that.” He paused for a second, like he couldn’t decide how to phrase what he had to say next. “But then there was this one dream. This one, perfect dream, where you’re telling me about that time I spoke at your high school. Remember that?”

“I remember,” Peter said, swallowing hard.

“And I didn’t know who you were…” Johnny broke off, sighing. “Isn’t that how it always goes? I get Spider-Man. I don’t get Peter Parker.”

“Johnny,” Peter said, reaching for him. He stopped himself before he could touch his hand.

“And I kept having it. It felt so real,” Johnny said. He raised his hand to touch his lips. “So who else was I going to go to? If it helps, Doom looked even less happy to be having this conversation than you.”

“That’s not—” Peter tried, but Johnny beat him to the punch, still talking.

“So Doom tells me about Battleworld,” he said. “The gist of it, anyway. Can’t say I really understand it. But I think now that’s where it must have happened.” He looked Peter dead in the eye. “You kissed me there, right?”

What could Peter do? The usual? Lie, deny, keep the status quo? He didn’t want that. Not tonight.

It took him three long steps to get to Johnny, to grab him up around the waist and yank him into a kiss. He made it a good one, deep and hard and full of want, manhandling Johnny back and down against the sofa. It was nothing like the chaste brush of their lips on Battleworld, when he’d been so afraid. There was no fear in him, not tonight.

“Oh,” Johnny said when they broke apart, a little flushed. “Peter Parker in charge.”

Peter started to laugh. “What? What does that mean?”

“It means I liked it,” Johnny said, licking his lips. “I knew it was real. You kissed me then.”

“Listen,” Peter told him, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Listen, you have to understand – I thought I was never going to see you again, and then I got a chance and I just… I always said, if I got a second chance to do something I should have, I’d take it. And I got a second chance with you.”

“You don’t have to explain that part,” Johnny said, shaking his head.

“No?” Peter said.

“Nope,” Johnny said. “The part you have to understand is why you didn’t keep kissing me.”

“You didn’t remember it. And then you were so broken up over everything,” Peter said, shaking his head. “How could I do that to you? Just barge into your life and…”

“And what? You didn’t think maybe if I’d had you, it would’ve helped with that?” Johnny said.

“That’s not how it tends to work with me, no,” Peter said.

“Okay, but,” Johnny said, tweaking Peter’s collar, “think about it this way: it’s how it tends to work with us.”

Peter closed his eyes and exhaled, hit by the truth of it. Would he even be Spider-Man without Johnny? There had been the speech at his school assembly, sure, but Johnny pushed him to be better in a hundred other different tiny ways. Johnny believed in him. Enough that Johnny had left him his family.

The weight of that was enormous, and that was before Peter let himself consider if, just maybe, the reverse was true, too. That he made Johnny better, somehow.

“This wasn’t about me. This was about you, getting scared. But that wasn’t your second chance, Pete,” Johnny said. His eyes were so blue; Peter touched his face. “This is.”

“I’m not used to being good for people,” Peter admitted.

Johnny cracked a grin. “Shut up, Spider-Man. You’ve never been anything else.”

Peter had to kiss him again, and again, and once more for good measure.

“I think,” Johnny said, curling his fingers in Peter’s shirt, “I think all those other dreams were other versions of us, you know? I think when all those universes got patchworked together, I got to see that. All these other versions of us.” He smiled, and his eyes were a little shiny. “I love that, Peter.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He groaned, putting his head down against Johnny’s shoulder. “I just remembered: Betty’s in my room.”

“That’s okay,” Johnny said, lying back against the couch cushions and pulling Peter down on top of him. “Just kiss me for now.”