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The infamous Parker luck struck again.
Okay, so, Peter might have waited a bit long to get his driver's’ license- but in all fairness, he lived in New York. Did anyone actually drive themselves in the city? Aside from chauffeurs or taxi drivers? Definitely not in Queens. People in Queens took taxis or the subway or walked like normal New Yorkers. So yeah, Peter didn’t think it was a big deal to wait till he was 18 to get his license. Honestly, he was only getting it then since Aunt May had been on his case for months about it.
Something about it being ‘a rite of passage’ and, ‘good for emergencies’ and, oh, ‘hello, Peter, you can’t use your high school student card as an ID forever!”.
Peter stood beside May’s old Toyota (which even she hasn’t used in at least 6 months) parked on the street right in front of the DMV. After completing all the paperwork he was told to wait by his vehicle for his examiner, but looking down at his watch, that was 15 minutes ago. And if he knew anything at all about his fellow New Yorkers, it was probably going to be another 20.
Another 10 minutes standing there, he’s halfway through a game of Subway Surfers and effectively tuning out the city noise. The sound of construction, people cursing at eachother in nearby apartments, dogs barking, car horns, screams that almost sound like they’re getting closer and closer.. Wait, what?
“Wh-” Peter’s head shot up just in time to watch something- someone , throw themselves into and effectively through the back seat window of May’s shitty silver car and- What the hell?
After a second of gaping and feeling his heart fall out of his chest and into his ass, Peter rebooted, finally registering the yelling.
“-Fucking drive ! What the fuck, couldn’t you hear me yelling from down the motherfucking block, I think R. Kelly heard me in Trump fucking Tower, get in the car and drive- ”
Peter was sort of- Terrified. A lot terrified, actually.
Cue questionable auto-pilot.
Scary guy, yelling, broken car window, holy shit May is going to kill him, where are his keys ?!
He frantically pet his thighs, then the sides of his hooded jacket until he felt the imprint of May’s stupid poop emoji keychain and yanks with shaky hands. It takes a few tries to get himself steady enough to actually press the unlock button, and he doesn’t realize that he’s been rambling until he’s inside the car and closed the door and all he can hear his the guy’s voice and his own overlapping each other.
“-What the heck, what the- I can’t believe- Who are you- My test- I’m not supposed to be driving, I-I don’t have my license yet- Oh my god, I’m gonna die- And if I don’t, May is gonna kill me- What the hell-”
“-Kid, if you don’t start this car in 3 seconds, I will personally reach down your throat, grab the nearest intestine, and pull real hard on it like a fucked up game of tug of war-
“-Holy shit - ” It took Peter 4 tries to put the key into the ignition, and as the car revved up, he looked in his rear view mirror and saw- Well, he saw a very well muscled torso, thanks to the the guy’s t-shirt and hoodie that rode up from the impact, and a lot of broken glass from the window he shattered- But as he reached up to adjust his mirror, he couldn’t help his panicked squawk when he spotted a trio of men in expensive looking suits in the street behind them, one holding a shotgun, another holding a rifle, and the last one donning a bloodied wooden bat.
“Drive, drive, drive, the goddamn Cosa Nostra are right behind you waiting to stick you in their fucking ice box, fucking drive!” The guy said, voice muffled as he kept trying to wiggle the rest of his body into the car, but holy hell, he was big , and trying to squeeze the rest of his legs through the broken window caused his masked face to be squished up against the opposite window.
As soon as he heard bullets start to fly.. Well. Peter’s foot slammed on the accelerator.
There was no one in front of him, but the Toyota lurched forward and he ended up on the sidewalk and crashed into a newspaper box, but it seemed anyone else on the street had good sense to run away from the people in the street shooting, so thankfully he didn’t run anyone over.
“Holy shit!” More bullets, and he thinks a few hit the back of the car. Peter flails for a moment before gripping his steering wheel and turning, stepping as hard as he can on the accelerator and focusing on not hitting anything as he drove. It was hard when the entire street was full of cars or people jaywalking, but he tried his best to maneuver around them and not kill anyone.
“What the hell is happening- They’re shooting, why are they shooting- They could kill us! Do they know they could kill us?” Peter said, panicked.
“Fucking finally, I thought I would have to- Shit, watch out! Turn here, turn here!”
The guy’s voice was suddenly right by his ear. Peter deduced he had finally wiggled the rest of the way into his car, but it still startled him. He found himself obeying the command instantly, though, his hands moving as if on autopilot. He could barely hear the people honking in the cars behind him, he was so focused. “I don’t- This isn’t safe, I’m breaking so many laws here.” Peter found himself rambling, and he cursed to himself as he swerved out of the way of a taxi cab.
The other guy laughed, and suddenly he was climbing into the passenger seat, that being a struggle since he was at least like 6’2. He ended up elbowing Peter a few times, kicking the radio at least once, and jostling the steering wheel with all the movement, making Peter swat at him with his right hand.
“Beats being tortured by the Mob,” He stated, finally settling into the seat, but his legs were still bent awkwardly. Peter saw him try to adjust the seat further back through his periphery, then grunt when he saw it was already as far back as possible.
“Fuck bucket, was this seat made exclusively for Smurfs?” He readjusted until one of his legs was up against the car door and he was, apparently, more comfortable. “TURN!”
Peter was yet again startled by the command, and he instinctively turned the wheel, harshly skidding left and almost causing two cars to crash into him.
“Shit!” He exclaimed, and he noticed his heart was going a mile a minute. He was definitely not cut out for this.
“What the hell is going on? Why were they shooting? Who are you? You broke my window! I’m gonna have to pay for that!” he said, out of breath, and the guy just laughed again.
“Well, aren’t you adorable! Haven’t you ever been a getaway driver?”
“A… Getaway driver.” Peter repeated lamely, turning into another street when he saw the upcoming traffic light turn yellow.
“Yes, honeybutt! I knew killing the favorite son of a mobster would guarantee a few trigger-happy groupies coming after me, but Dopinder wasn’t in our designated meet-up point, the damn ray of Indian sunshine, so I had to improvise. Lucky for me, your cute little tush was already standing right and ready beside a perfectly good car.” The guy said way too casually, and Peter suddenly became so nauseated that he didn’t even notice him taking off his black and red mask.
He hadn’t really thought about why this guy would need to run away from guys shooting at him, he hadn't really had time to think about it, but he would not have just assumed that he had killed anyone.
He probably would have come to the conclusion that he had robbed the wrong people, or those men were just insane and went after a random person, i.e, this guy. Stranger things have happened. But he murdered someone? Peter was going to be sick.
“You.. Killed.. Oh shit, oh shit, I’m gonna go to jail, oh my god, I won’t do well in jail, I can’t go to jail, I.. I have school!” Peter was beginning to hyperventilate, and he didn’t even notice he had taken his hands off the wheel until another, much bigger hand gripped the leather in front of him and jerked it straight once more, cars honking behind him again.
“Fuck, sweetie, don’t go all bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s, on me right now. You still need to get me to my second rendezvous point. Hey, hey, hey, keep your foot on the gas!”
Peter glanced at the guy, and..
Holy hell.
Why would the universe make a criminal- a killer, so hot? Peter was still breathing too heavily, but now he felt a flush travel up his neck and to his cheeks. Was he sweating?
The guy was still leaned over toward him, maneuvering the steering wheel with one hand while looking toward the road, giving Peter a perfect view of a ridiculously sharp jawline lined with golden stubble, a straight nose and thick eyebrows - was that a scar through the left one? - devastatingly blue eyes and perfect blonde hair set in soft spikes.
He looked at least 22, Peter noted, his gaze traveling down to his muscled forearms, the gun sticking out of the pocket of his black hoodie, back up to his tanned neck, and - Oh, eye contact, hello.
The guy was looking at him now, and Peter stared back at him with parted lips until the guy began to smirk and he realized he had been staring at him far too long to be normal.
“Like what you see, Bambi?”
Peter flushed harder if it were possible, hands coming back up to hold the wheel again and his attention turning back to the road in front of him. Bambi? Did he really look like an animated Disney character?
The guy let go of the wheel once Peter got his bearings again but he was still leaning close toward him, close enough that he could smell gunpowder and mint and the remnants of cologne. How was that such a good combination? Peter bit his lip, and the guy chuckled to himself, the sound making the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck rise. Okay, Peter, get it together. This guy was a killer!
Why didn’t he feel like he was in danger? Doesn’t a feeling of danger accompany the usual murder confession?
Peter licked his lips. He looked in the rear view mirror, relieved to see that he didn’t see any sign of the shooters from before following them. “Oh, my god. I’m.. Baby Driver.” Peter mused awkwardly, and startled when the guy laughed, loud and genuine. He looked over at him, and Peter blushed when he caught him staring at him with a lazy smirk on his face.
“Mmm, you talk too much to be Baby,” He stated, and Peter watched as the guy leaned back again and relaxed into the seat. “And you’re kinda a shitty driver, t-b-h.”
Peter’s head reeled, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, he heard police sirens behind him.
Aaaaand, cue feelings of dread and danger. There it is! He thought that was broken for a second there.
“Oh crap, oh no, I’m going to jail, I can’t go to jail, May is gonna kill me!” He rambled, and he automatically began to turn the wheel to pull over, already planning in his mind the confession he was going to make to the officers and how much a lawyer would cost and how he couldn’t afford a lawyer so he would have to defend himself or be given a free lawyer by the city and they wouldn’t care about his case at all so he would get sentenced to 20 years for being an accomplice in a murder and -
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the fuck are you doing, Baby Boy? Hold onto your panties and step on the gas.” The guy said, and when Peter looked over at him, a dangerous look of challenge was etched onto his handsome features.
Peter gulped.
“But- Cops-“
“I said step on the gas, Bambi.” His expression left no room for protest, and Peter’s heart had never raced so fast. The guy leaned over again to grip the steering wheel once more, never breaking their eye contact. Peter thought it was slightly unfair how deep his eyes were, and how easily he convinced him. Licking his lips, Peter let go of the steering wheel and slammed on the accelerator.
Hot Criminal grinned wolfishly in response. “Good boy.”
For some reason, that made something funny fill his chest. Why did Peter like that stupid pet name so much?
The whole chase went by in a blur. Peter swore it was something out of Fast and The Furious, and he had no idea how May’s crappy Toyota survived all the harsh turns and sudden reversals, or how the guy drove like that from the passenger seat, or how Peter managed to follow the orders that the guy barked at him, or how the police didn’t catch up to them.
How had this become Peter’s life?
He was always boring, awkward ‘Puny’ Parker, with the worst luck and the dorkiest, most mundane hobbies. He usually stayed home watching movies, or built Lego Deathstars with his friend Ned. He was on the academic decathlon team in his school, for crying out loud. He was only supposed to take his driving test today, and now he was part of a high speed chase, and helping a criminal get away from police.
And.. He was having fun.
Peter realized he was laughing. Quietly at first, until it turned into full-on giggles, his hands rubbing at his face incredulously. He was pretty sure he was high on adrenaline.
The criminal beside him chuckled, doing a last turn into a parking garage. “Oh, you’re precious. I want to keep you.”
Keep him? Peter’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked over at him and then around them when he realized the car had stopped. “Wha-?” The only other car near them was a typical yellow taxi cab, and Peter was confused. When he looked at the criminal next to him, a dark feeling filled his chest when he saw the man holding a roll of duct tape. “Oh crap, are you gonna kill me?” He asked shakily, and the guy rolled his eyes.
“Get your cute butt out the car, Fluttershy.”
Peter did as he was told. He kind of felt like his soul had floated out of his body and he was watching everything happen from the outside looking in. He opened the car door slowly, then stepped out on wobbly legs. He couldn’t believe that after everything, after being forced to become a getaway driver, helping a murderer escape police, he was going to be killed.
He thought he would feel terrified, or he would try to beg for his life, but.. He was pissed .
“What the hell,” Peter began, anger bubbling inside him. The guy was walking toward him now, having gotten out too, and Peter snapped. He stomped toward him, the guy looking a bit surprised as Peter suddenly poked him hard in the chest.
“Uh- ow?” Hot Criminal said, more like a question, but he kept the duct tape in his hand. Peter then tried to push him, but it ended up being embarrassing since the guy didn’t budge. He didn’t know what he expected, since he was a whole head taller than Peter and ridiculously built.
“You’re not going to kill me. You’re not allowed to kill me. I missed my drivers test for this, my aunt May is probably worried sick about me, and I broke so many laws! Like, so many! You can’t kill me after that! It’s not fair!” Peter almost yelled, and he only became more angry when the guy simply laughed at him. “S-Stop laughing at me, you big, douchey- you big.. You ass! ” He stammered as the guy only laughed harder.
Peter was frustrated, and as he stared as the Ridiculously Hot Criminal laughed until he was near tears, wheeze out something about how precious he was, he decided it was a good chance to get away. So, he looked around the parking garage for exits, found the emergency stairs a few feet to his right, and broke out into a sprint.
He didn’t make it far.
The wind was knocked out of him three seconds into him running. “Fuck-“ Peter wheezes, having been slammed into one of the concrete pillars of the parking garage.
Opening his eyes and feeling more than a bit dizzy, he gaped when he realizes the blonde man had him pinned against the pillar and was smirking down at him just a bit menacingly, and damn it, why was that so hot?
“Not that I mind pinning such a pretty thing like you against a wall like this, but, pinky promise me you won’t try to escape again?” The taller man coos at him, and Peter can only grit his teeth through a blush.
“Why should I? Either you kill me or the cops come and arrest us. I prefer going to prison and taking you down with me.”
The guy rolled his eyes, and he leaned closer and gripped Peter’s jaw with one hand, his other arm braced next to his head on the pillar, closing him in until they were breathing the same air and Peter was hit with the scent of gunpowder and musk again. It was sort of intoxicating; so was the feeling of his calloused fingers on his skin.
Still, Peter stared up at him defiantly, and it just caused Hot Criminal to grin, all straight white teeth, and Peter tried to ignore the blush rising to his cheeks from their proximity.
Criminal guy’s eyes ran across his face, and there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “Oh, baby boy, you are something right out of a wet dream. I’m not gonna kill you, cutie,” He smiled almost sweetly, and Peter rolled his eyes. “Honest! Cross my heart and hope to die!” He insisted, the hand that was cupping Peter’s jaw releasing and going down to draw an X on his own (very broad) t-shirt clad chest.
Peter’s eyes tracked the movement, and he relaxed just a bit. “Well, then, let me go, asshole.” He demanded a bit stubbornly, and the guy tilted his head and tapped at his own chin as if in thought.
“Yeeeah, nope, can’t do that either, Bambi. See, the cops most likely already ran your license plate number and know it’s your car,” Peter resisted cutting in and correcting him that it wasn’t in fact his car, it was his Aunt’s, “and I can’t let you go to the slammer, now can I? Even though there’s probably some really hot fanfic about that somewhere on the internet. Anyway, New York’s meanest and greenest would just eat a cute little twink like you right up. No bueno.” He stated, stepping away from Peter and picking up the duct tape that he had apparently dropped on the floor.
Peter was majorly confused. “Uh..?” He trailed off, furrowing his brows and watching as the other man started pulling out a long strip of tape from the roll.
“Pop a squat, Baby,” he grinned at him teasingly, lifting his chin to gesture at the pillar behind Peter.
Peter just gaped. He wasn’t really going to.. “No, no, not happening.”
The guy sighed, and Peter took a step backward. “Oh, don’t be a sourspider. C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good boy?” He sing-songed.
Again with that pet name. Why did it make heat pool in Peter’s belly? He bit his lip and looked around them, contemplating his choices.
He.. Didn’t really have any. He could go to to jail, or trust the ridiculously hot murderer in front of him. “Oh, what the hell.” Peter sat down, scooting backward until his back hit the pillar. The guy grinned down at him, and like this, Peter felt completely dwarfed by him.
“Oooh, I like you,” He said, but Peter was distracted when he looked down and- Were those high tops with the golden girls cast printed on them? God, was this guy for real?
Peter’s attention snapped back to the blonde when he suddenly knelt in front of him and he was eye-level with his muscled chest.
Which, yes. Wow. Hot. Peter’s lips were a bit parted as he took in the expanse of him hungrily, and also tried to ignore the dumb rainbow unicorn graphic tee he was wearing underneath his black hoodie. Peter swallowed, not even noticing how he was being taped to the pillar then.
“If you don’t close that pretty mouth, something unsavory might find its way inside.” The guy was smirking when Peter’s eyes snapped upward to his face.
Jerk.
When he tried to flex his arms and found that he couldn’t, he finally realized that, yep, he was really taped to the pillar. That was actually happening. He groaned. “Shut up. I can’t believe this is my first experience with bondage.” Peter muttered, intending it as sort of a joke, but when he looked up once more at Hot Criminal, there was heat behind his blue eyes. Oh.
“What’s your name, baby boy?” He asked in that gravelly voice of his. It was sort of unfairly sexy.
Peter swallowed. He knew it wasn’t the brightest idea, telling a murderer his name, which he could use to track him and.. Do, uh.. Criminal things? With? But he found himself telling him anyway. “Peter Parker.”
“Aw, cute name for a cute boy. How old are you, Petey Pie?”
“18.”
“Oh, thank Bea Arthur. Isn’t it my lucky day?” Another wolfish grin that had heat pooling in Peter’s stomach.
He was about to ask for his name in return, but both of their heads turned suddenly when they heard nearing police sirens. Hot Criminal sighed dramatically, and Peter watched as he stood up, towering over him again.
“Wait-“ Peter started, trying to struggle in his duct tape constraints.
“That’s my cue, baby boy! See you on the flip side!” He carded his long fingers through Peter’s wavy brown locks and tugged, causing him to flutter his eyes shut, gasping. “Maybe then I could tie you up to something other than a parking garage wall.”
He was gone before Peter could process what he had said.
Peter watched him run toward the cab in the parking lot, heard the driver say something in an accented voice (“I am so relieved you are not dead, Mr. Wilson!”), heard him answer something much-too casually for the situation they were in (“Well, Dopinder, I’ll tell ya, it’s a fucking Christmas miracle I still am, since someone wasn’t in the rendezvous spot he was supposed to pick me up me at!”) and then they were off.
5 minutes later, when 4 cop cars pulled into the garage and at least seven officers stormed out with guns and began shouting immediately, all Peter could do we give an awkward wave with his hand. Well, a mini one, since his arms were taped closed to his sides. “Uh, a little help here?”
---
30 minutes later, his aunt May had also shown up, yelled at him, hugged him, and finally cried a little, giving Peter major emotional whiplash, and the officers took in his official statement.
Officer Brown was a middle aged heavy guy with a white mustache, and he seemed exhausted as he rubbed a heavy hand over his eyes. Peter was free from the tape then, leaned against the same pillar. “So, let me get this straight. The guy took your keys, pushed you into the car, three guys were shooting at you, the guy engaged in a high-speed chase with the NYPD, he brought you here and taped you to a wall, escaped in a taxi.. And you have no identification you can give us?”
Peter shrugged, hoping his poker face was convincing but he knew it probably wasn’t. “I-It was totally crazy! And, uh, he had on a mask, how was I supposed to see his face?” He insisted, thinking about the black and red ski mask looking thing that the guy had on at the beginning of the whole adventure.
Officer Brown looked suspicious, but sighed and nodded, closing his notepad. “Right. Whatever.” He gestured toward the other officers still on the scene. “Let’s wrap it up, guys.”
---
A few days had passed. Peter still hadn’t been able to reschedule his driver’s test, what with May’s car still having a shattered window and bullet holes littered across it. Peter tried telling her it gave the car character, but she was still pretty bummed that her insurance wouldn’t cover the cost of the repairs.
Peter still thought of Hot Criminal guy. Like.. Every day. Multiple times a day.
It was unfair how charming the guy was. Not to mention how attractive. Peter didn’t know why he didn’t feel in danger even once around him, despite knowing he had killed someone, and despite being pretty much forced to be his getaway driver (he hadn’t told anyone the truth about that). Peter could feel that he was actually a good guy. So, he had killed a guy. Killing was horrible! Unforgivable! But at least he had killed a mobster who had probably committed unspeakable crimes.
That was at least redeemable.
Maybe Peter was blinded by his attraction to the guy. Well.. Okay, his crush . Could you blame him? The guy was hot, and funny, and he had flirted with him, and maybe Peter was into their size difference too, and the whole ‘good boy’ thing. Maybe. Just a little.
Peter heard a knock at his apartment door, and he looked up from where he was strewn across his living room couch, still in the skinny jeans and sweater he had worn to school. May was still at work since it was 5pm on a Wednesday, so he was alone. He sighed and paused the Star Trek movie he had been watching, slowly standing and trudging over to the door, checking that the bat they kept for safety was still next to the entrance before answering.
When he swung open the door, he was met with an empty hallway, even when he looked around the corners for anyone possibly hiding. Weird. He looked down just as he was about to shut the door, and was surprised to see a blank white envelope.
Peter bent down to gingerly pick it up, noting the thickness and how it felt kind of heavy, turning it over to look for writing but it was blank on the other side too. He looked around the hallway once more before closing his door and locking it. He walked over to the couch again as he tore open the envelope, and immediately, he saw several hundred dollar bills inside.
“What the heck?” He murmured to himself, plopping down on the couch and reaching inside to find a small, pink sheet of paper decorated with hello kitty stickers. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he read the note, written in what looked like red crayon.
Dear Petey Pie,
I hear you didn’t tell the cops anything worth their time. Good, cuz if you did, I woulda had to give ya a good ol’ spanking ;)
Sorry I had to leave so suddenly that day, and I’m sorry about fuckin up your car. It would be kinda dickish of me not to pay for the window I totally broke.. Or the bullet holes our buddies the Goodfellas left in the bumper.
(Uh, you might wanna pay for a whole new car and license plate, tbh. Don’t want the mob finding your cute butt and tearing it a new one lol <3)
Anywho! You should totes let me take you out on a date (or several idk) to make up for making you break the law and miss your drivers test and all that shiz.
All the xoxoxo’s,
Wade Wilson
On the back of the note was Hot Criminal’s - Wade’s phone number, and when Peter counted up the bills in the envelope, there was at least 5 grand in it. He stared at the money in his hand for a good ten minutes before shaking his head and taking out his cracked iPhone 5 from his back pocket, immediately typing in the phone number and a new message.
Huh. Aunt May was right. Driving had come in handy.