Timshel

vii - Look at Me

warnings: mild self injury, lots of fluff

***

"Where are we going?" You ask, resting both hands on Peter's chest. You felt his heart thump rapidly under your fingertips as his grip on your tightened. You weren't sure why he wasn't wearing the IronSpider suit but it spread a warmth down your body, you liked being able to properly hear and feel his heartbeat.

"Can I show you something?"

You're hesitant but nod, watching as one of his hands tightens on your waist and the other shoots out, fingers curling in and shooting a web at a building behind you.

"Hold on, okay?"

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding your breath as your legs wrapped around his waist.

You're... flying.

It's definitely more accurately described as swinging, but it felt like flying.

He's watching you, listening to your heartbeat, feeling how you held onto him. All his senses tuned to you. Almost all of them. He lands on the rooftop of a building and your legs drop back down.

"How was that?"

"It was... okay," you say, head still resting on his shoulder.

"Let's try something else," Peter nods, your legs move back to wrap around his waist and he shoots another web out, much farther this time. It sticks to a billboard so far away it takes your eyes a little bit to focus on it.

You're swinging again, flying through the air, wind rushing past your face and you look down, watching the lights of cars and signs littering the street blur together before you land on a rooftop right below the billboard.

"How was that?" Peter asks, you don't drop your legs from his waist.

"Can we do that again?" You ask, feeling the blood rush through your ears.

"Of course," Peter nods, shooting another web farther now and you're taking off again. You land on the roof of another building, moving through Queens in the lowering sunset. You don't ever want Peter to let go of you. Maybe you could swing around the entirety of New York until you saw the sunrise together, sleep be damned.

But a call from Aunt May reminded you that she was expecting the two of you home for dinner with her and Happy by 8.

"We have a half an hour, come on, I've got a place I want to take you to," Peter swung down to a spot in an alley and he took your hand in his.

"Please don't take me to another street vendor," you tried to make your voice sound happy and playful, you were joking, as long as it wasn't a hot dog, but you couldn't convey that, you really couldn't convey any positive emotion.

You couldn't tell that Peter's face dropped inside the mask and he was thankful for that, "oh, I mean, we could just go home, we don't have to, there's this churro cart and-,"

"Peter?" you squeeze his hand to bring his focus to you, "I was joking. I was trying to joke with you."

"So you want a churro?"

You nod, "should we change?"

"Nah, it's okay, let's grab the churros and we can go to the roof of our place."

You walk hand in hand down the block towards a churro cart. People look at you, the slightly odd pair, a girl in street clothes, seemingly normal except for the black mask covering half her face, hand in hand with a boy wearing blue and red spandex. But you didn't feel the uncomfortable weight of their stares. You could only focus on Peter and how his hand felt in your own. And Betty's words from earlier that day. Peter likes you romantically.