Spider-Man/Avengers One Shots

Bed Frames and Neighbour Things

Peter: 1:43am
Just got in a cab. I regret listening to you about that last round.

Mj: 1:47am
No you don't.

If "fun" meant spending four hours at a dive bar near campus watching Mj flirt with that blonde from their Psych class— what was her name? Betty? Right. It was a wonder Peter could remember his address right now, let alone the name of Mj's... whatever they were calling it.

He groaned at his phone before shoving it back in his pocket and letting his head fall back against the seat. I'm going to have such a hangover tomorrow. This always happened. Any time Peter agreed to out with Mj, it always ended in way too many shots of vodka and Peter stumbling up all six flights of stairs to get to his apartment.

The cab driver wasn't helping his predicament. This guy had clearly never heard of easing on the break, instead stomping to a jerky stop at every car, pedestrian, and light for the eight mile drive to Peter's apartment building in East Harlem. He'd never been more grateful to shove money at someone and stumble out of a car.

"Why didn't I live in the dorms?" Peter mumbled under his breath as he fumbled for his keys. One for the lobby, one for the apartment— it was a facade of safety that still didn't make up for the lack of elevator or AC. As he stumbled up the stairs, Peter could hear muffled banging. Probably 14D refinishing furniture. Again.

By the time he was shoving his key into the lock of his apartment door, the banging was much less muffled. It was almost clear as day, accompanied by 'son of a bitch!' and 'I fucking hate IKEA,' all coming from apartment 3F. The new tenant.

Peter clutched at his throbbing head with one hand and pushed open his door with the other, trying to block out the sound. The oven clock cheerfully informed him it was already 2:29am. Not having class the next morning was the only thing saving him from murdering Mj.

Mj: 2:32am
Home. The new neighbor is loud. You're dead to me if I have a hangover tomorrow.

Mj: 2:34am
Ok loser.

Mj: 2:40am
I'll buy brunch tomorrow.

Peter: 2:41am
You know the way to my heart.

A crash from the other side of the wall jarred Peter enough to jump. Did this guy have any manners? Rooting around in the dark, Peter found a bottle of aspirin and popped two in his mouth, holding them there as he filled a cup of water and drained it. Maybe they would be enough to ward off the threatening migraine that was hovering behind his eyes, reverberating with every clang of furniture next door.

Maybe he was still drunk enough to have no inhibitions. Or maybe he just really wanted some peace and fucking quiet to get to sleep. Whatever it was had Peter yanking open his door and stepping into the hall to knock on 3F's door, foot tapping on the floor in annoyance as he heard another mangled shout.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Peter yelled through the door. "I'm coming! Keep your pants on!" a male voice hollered back.

The door swung open to reveal a flushed-face man in a white t-shirt and black briefs, his brown hair sticking in at least six different directions and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Peter's mouth went dry as his eyes, unbidden, took stock of his new next-door-neighbor. It really wasn't his fault that the guy was a muscular specimen who was standing there in his underwear. With legs that would make Michelangelo proud.

"What's up?" the man asked as if he hadn't been shrieking at his furniture two minutes ago. Peter balked, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand: his need for sleep. "Uh, hi. I'm Peter Parker, your neighbor." He jerked a thumb towards his still-open door. "Look man, it is almost three in the morning."