SpideyTorch Oneshot Collection

i'll wipe your blood off the concrete (take you to the party)

Summary: "Peter, I swear to god if you don't stop moving, I'm going to bash your head into the mirror."
"Ooh, talk dirty to me." Johnny flushes, pinching Peter's thigh. He yelps and Johnny resists the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.
Word Count: 1255
by @hotsinks on archive of our own

"Peter, I swear to god if you don't stop moving, I'm going to bash your head into the mirror."

"Ooh, talk dirty to me." Johnny flushes, pinching Peter's thigh. He yelps and Johnny resists the urge to tell him to shut the hell up. He tilts Peter's head back, just so he doesn't have to look at the dude, and focuses on the gashes overtaking his chest. There's several small ones, mostly shallow, but there are a few deeper ones decorating his torso. He wipes off the dried blood, covering what he can with bandaids.

"I have to do stitches," Johnny says. Peter goes white, letting out a harsh breath. "What? It's not like the time we were in a pinch and I had to do it with mint dental floss."

"Oh my god, don't remind me. That hurt so bad," Peter says. Johnny snorts, patting Peter's thigh.

"You're a big boy, you can do it," Johnny says sweetly. Peter grumbles something under his breath, Johnny readying the needle. He makes a small countdown for Peter, who tenses under his touch, and then Johnny is stitching Peter up.

It's what they'd call a regular Saturday. Or, really, any regular day when they're not out stopping crime together or Johnny isn't in space. He's far too uncomfortable with how many times he's had to clean Peter's blood off his bathroom counter and floor recently. Peter yawns as Johnny finishes the stitches, head gently falling against the mirror.

"I'm beat," he says. Johnny snorts, coaxing Peter to move off the counter and somewhere else so Johnny can wash his hands. There's gauze across his nose, protecting the gash that's under it, hiding most of the bruising too. Peter stands there, swaying gently and humming in his torn suit.

"You're not sleeping in my bed in that," Johnny says. "It's gross. Strip."

Peter smiles sweetly. "Buy me dinner first?" Johnny bites the inside of his cheek and turns to exit the bathroom. He rummages through drawers before he finds pants that might fit Peter and a shirt that he thinks belonged to somebody else once. It's too large to fit Johnny snugly, and if he were to put it on the sleeves would hang low. The fabric is soft and worn. Johnny thinks it might have been Peter's once. He lets that train of thought crash and burn violently, refusing to ever think about it again. He tosses the clothes in the bathroom and waits until Peter tumbles out, hair a mess and a disarming smile dressed across his face.

Johnny's not quite sure who he wants to destroy. Maybe he just wants to kiss Peter. He turns instead, facing the window to collect himself. Peter, god love him, has the decency to pretend not to notice the eighty-million emotions Johnny seems to be suffering from.

"So which side is mine?" Peter asks, standing at the foot of the bed. Johnny turns, swallowing thickly.

"Whichever," he says. Peter hums, satisfied by that answer, and flops down on the side closest to the window. They've never had this after a routine patch up, never shared a bed. But Johnny doesn't trust Peter to go home without getting the shit knocked out of him again, so here it stands. Johnny can already read his own gravestone: Here lies Johnny Storm, killed by repressing all his emotions for his best friend.

"It's my birthday tomorrow," Peter says. Johnny rolls over to find Peter staring at the ceiling.

"Is it now, super genius?" Johnny asks, He knows it is. It's marked on the calendar in his phone, has been for the last two years.

"Mhm," Peter says. There's no smile to his facem just utter calm and exhaustion that's started to slip through the cracks. "What'd ya get me?"

"That'd ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" Johnny asks.

"That's the fancy way of telling me you didn't get me anything," Peter says. He rolls over and cracks that lazy, effortless grin, and Johnny feels his ribs crack and chest melt. He licks his lips, tugging at the end of his shirt so he doesn't do something fucking stupid. Peter catches the alarm clock behind Johnny.

"Look at that, twelve am. Happy birthday to me," he says gently. And he's just looking at Johnny, watching him so closely, that Johnny can't take it anymore. He's leaning over and pressing his lips against Peter's, all hasty so Johnny can forget about it in two seconds. But he'd never be able to forget about it, really, because it's so fucking stupid. When Johnny pulls away, too fast and too slow all at once, Peter's grin cracks open wider.

"I was wondering when you'd finally do that," he says, all slow and soft. Johnny feels like he's going to die, legs in a particularly gelatin state at the moment.

"Oh, you asshole," Johnny says. Peter cackles and Johnny rolls on top of him, knocking his head against Peter's chin.

"Hey," Peter whispers. "Johnny, hey."

"No, I'm talking to you. Forever," Johnny says into Peter's chest. Laughter bubbles from Peter's mouth, shaking his chest. Johnny groans and looks up, chin making itself comfortable right where his ribs are. Peter winces, and Johnny rolls off him, remembering that he'd just patched Peter's wounds up.

"Kiss me again," Peter says. Johnny nods.

"I can do that," he says, hands laying lamely in his lap. He's sitting up, Peter following suit. Johnny does not kiss Peter, stomach coiling and heart beating out of his chest. Peter knocks on the side of Johnny's head.

"Hey, matchstick, why aren't y—?" Peter asks, the end of the sentence muffled into Johnny's mouth. He tries to be gentle, due to Peter's stupid nose and stupid injured face, hand cradling the side of Peter's jaw. Peter is not so careful, hands tangling in the front of Johnny's shirt to pull him closer. It bumps their noses together and Peter hisses, breaking apart the kiss to cradle his hands to his face. Johnny snorts. He leans over and presses a kiss, gentle and soft, to the junction of Peter's jaw.

"Go to sleep," Johnny says. "You'll be more alert in the morning. Not stupid enough to do something like that." He's pretty sure Peter's lip has split again, and he wipes the blood with his thumb.

*************************

He wakes earlier than Peter. Johnny finds that to be a miracle.

He slips out of Peter's iron grip, quietly making his way to the kitchen. Peter wakes when Johnny's at the stove, making what is probably considered too much food, but is just enough. He turns and finds Peter falling asleep at the bar before sliding a plate and mug of coffee in front of him.

"Mornin', sunshine," Johnny says. Peter yawns, scalding his mouth with the mug of coffee. He doesn't even blink. Johnny hands him a fork and says nothing.

"Happy birthday, superhero," he says. Peter grins lazily as Johnny sits beside him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.

"Thanks," he says. "For all this." He gestures towards the plate of food in front of him, kicking Johnny's ankle.

"'Course. You got the shit beat out of you, least I could do was make you breakfast on your birthday," Johnny says. Peter giggles.

"Best birthday ever," Peter says, stretching. He puts a hand over where his stitches are, frowning.

"That's a disservice to your aunt," Johnny says. Peter nods.

"True," he says. "This is, like, top five, though. Definitely."

Johnny presses a kiss to Peter's temple. "Good."

Hey guys! It's been a while, sorry. School got really busy and i had to study for my exams (but i'm done with those now) and i've been working more lately. anyway i'll upload more one shots soon. for now, i hope you enjoyed this one shot.

Have a wonderful day/night and don't forget to comment. thanks for reading!