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Derek hasn’t been scouring the streets of the city for weeks, or checking the rooftops whenever he can scale the walls or just break into the building.
He hasn’t.
Much.
He stares out over the unnaturally bright sky of Manhattan at night. From his vantage point in the Flatiron district he can see that the Empire State Building is bathed in red, white and blue; the Rangers must’ve won the playoffs, then. He sighs and turns away from the edge, toward the elevator shaft vent and the stairwell next to it, considering his options. Move uptown, maybe cross over to Hell’s Kitchen? Or downtown, toward the Brooklyn Bridge? Idly, he swallows the old piece of gum in his mouth and reaches into a pocket for a new piece. Damn that kid and his stupid stories about opera singers and cigar smoke and-
“Ew, did you just swallow your gum? Don’t you know that it takes SEVEN YEARS for it to dissolve in your stomach?”
A bigger sigh then, and not just one of relief. Derek swivels his head as a familiar blue and red spider drops from the roof of the elevator shaft vent. “Kid, that’s a myth. And a dumb one at that. Of all people, I ain’t- ” he halts, sniffing the air. There’s the Axe deodorant, and the hair gel that he’d finally figured out was Bed Head brand (there might have been some opening and sniffing of multiple hair care products at various Duane Reades across the city but he’ll gut anybody who laughs), and underlying all of that is something sharp, coppery, and unmistakable.
“Shit, you’re hurt.” As if on cue, Spider-Man crumples, and Derek has to spring forward to break his fall. “Come on, slowly. That’s it. Bend your leg-”
“Wait- hurts,” Spider-Man says through clenched teeth, “It was okay when I was swinging but putting weight on it, oh fuck-”
Spider-Man clutches at his right leg while Derek drags him toward the wall of the stairwell, hissing as they more or less fall into a sitting position. Derek kneels for a closer look and blanches at what he sees.
“We have to get you to a hospital,” he says, grabbing Spider-Man’s shoulder. He doesn’t care if the worry and urgency of the situation is making his voice crack. “I don’t have my cell on me but we can break into an office and find a phone-”
But Spider-Man is shaking his head. “No, really, it’s okay,” he says. Wincing, he relaxes into Derek’s hold. “Just- just gimme a minute.”
“Kid, you’re bleeding out,” Derek snaps. “You could’ve nicked an artery, that’s too much blood-”
“I stopped bleeding, look, it’s all dried pretty much,” Spider-Man says, more calm than he should be right now, for someone who’s probably bleeding to death. “Seriously, quit it. I heal fast.”
That last bit makes Derek pause. “Healing factor?”
Spider-Man chuckles, wincing again as the slight movement jostles his leg. “Not… like you, I’m guessing?” he replies. “But yeah, after I got like this,” he waves a bloody gloved hand around, gesturing to his body as well as to his life, “I started healing from fights crazy fast. Even after I got shot I was okay the next morning.”
“You got shot?!” Derek’s healing factor is legendary, even among people whose own abilities are uncanny. The idea that Spider-Man is out there, alone, getting shot at or worse… he’s not sure if he can take any more of these revelations, to be honest.
“I was slower back then. I’m way faster now,” Spider-Man says, sounding smug. He sobers. “Just, please. All I need is a place to sit still for a minute, let the healing kick in. It won’t be a hundred percent ‘til tomorrow, probably, but a few hours of some peace and quiet and then I'll be able to get up and move around and go home.”
Derek feels skeptical, wants to say no, let’s get you out of here and into a hospital bed, but he knows how healing works. His body restores itself too quickly for downtime to be of any vital help, but a few hours sitting with Spider-Man isn’t the worst way to spend the night. Not at all.
“Okay,” he finally agrees. “You rest, and I’ll stay with you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to-”
“I know,” Derek says firmly, to avoid argument. “But you’re hurt. You’re not staying up here by yourself. So shut up and start healing.”
Derek hears grumbling, the words too low to make out, but Spider-Man shifts around slowly to get more comfortable. He finally hears a clear, “Is this okay?” and to his immense surprise (and secret pleasure), the warm, slightly sweaty body of the boy he’s been seeking for weeks settles against his side, strong, wiry arms wrapping around his waist.
Derek immediately moves his own arm around Spider-Man’s rather broad shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re good.”
They sit in companionable silence for so long that Derek is sure Spider-Man has fallen asleep. He takes the opportunity to look down at his new-found friend, to catalog the various tears in the suit and wonder at the way the blank eyes of the mask does nothing to hide the personality.
It startles him then, when the boy lifts his head. “You’re not even gonna ask?”
There’s a lot of things Derek wants to ask, but he knows what Spider-Man is saying. “Figured you got into a fight,” he says quietly. “Also figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”
Spider-Man squinches his nose, in a way that’s absolutely not cute, no, and shrugs. “It’s kinda… dumb?” he replies. “I mean, not so much the actual fight, which I was amazing in, by the way, but the guy…” he chuckles, and the movement apparently doesn’t hurt like it did before so that says something about his fast healing. “You ever hear of the Rhino? Wears like a gray onesie with a huge horn in the middle of his head?”
Derek snorts. “Costume or mutation?”
Spider-Man shrugs again. “Honestly? I have no idea. All I know is that he’s tough, mean, and dumber than a box of spaghetti. He got away and I got nicked by his horn, but I’ll find him again. Soon, too.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Derek says, giving Spider-Man a fond squeeze. He hears a little squeak from the boy, so he hugs him again, just for kicks. “You know… you might not get hurt so much if you had backup.”
Spider-Man sighs, or maybe gasps. Derek hears the steady thump thump thump of an increasing heart rate.
“Um. Backup?”
“Well, yeah,” Derek says. “A team. So you don’t go looking for trouble alone.”
“Oh.” Spider-Man pulls away, and damn it if his blank-masked face doesn’t actually fall. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t go looking for trouble, Mr. Smooth Talker. I’ve been doing this for years on my own and I don’t need the X-Men. And could I even join, since I wasn’t born like this?” he adds. “Because technically I guess I’m a mutate, not mutant. There’s a difference. Granted, all you really have to do is drop the “n” and add an “e” at the end, but still-”
“I wasn’t talking about the X-Men,” Derek cuts in. “You can have teams of two, y’know.”
“Oh,” Spider-Man says again. He straightens and peers at Derek with open curiosity. “You mean me… and you? Like a team up?”
It’s Derek’s turn to shrug. “I don’t like the idea of you gettin’ hurt,” he says. “If I can help you, I want to.”
Spider-Man cocks his head and stares again, suddenly suspicious. “Why? Why would you help me?”
And that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? But Derek hasn’t lived this type of life for this long because he’s afraid to find the answers.
“I like you,” he says, simple and honest. “I think you’re actively doing good things, puttin’ yourself out there. I read the Daily Bugle sometimes, when I can stomach the bullshit they keep printing about you. You're always gettin' in the middle of things. You’re a lot like me, like the X-Men. But you’re doing it all by yourself. And you don’t have to. ‘Sides,” he adds with a smirk. “The costume doesn’t hurt.”
Spider-Man’s face brightens at that. “My costume?” he exclaims. He leans in conspiratorily. “You know, at first I was kind of worried about how tight this thing is - like, does it make my butt look too big? Deep questions like that.” He leans back and crosses his arms, smug. “I guess my butt looks all right, huh?”
Derek grins. “Something like that, yeah.” He gestures, questioning. “So, I got nothing to do most nights. Don’t sleep much. The X-Men know how to reach me in an emergency. How ‘bout it? Think you can keep up with me?”
Spider-Man actually throws his head back and laughs. “Dude, I’m the one with the web slingers,” he says. “I timed it once: I can go from Midtown to Columbus Circle in less than 15 seconds. Can you keep up with me?” He sobers. “Wait, can you keep up with me? I mean, I guess I can carry you, but-”
“No,” Derek says quickly. He's never liked flying, and flying in the arms of a costumed boy, even one as strong as Spider-Man seems to be, is asking a bit much. “We can set routes, or you can figure out where you’re gonna be and let me know in advance. I own a cellphone, you know. I'll even start carrying it.”
“Well, I do too, but it’s not like I can keep mine on me,” Spider-Man says, pointing down. “No spider pockets or spider utility belt or spider gadgets.” He makes a face. “I, uh, also do this bad thing where I tend to destroy my phones. First it was an accident, because I literally didn’t know my own strength, but now… yeah. Fighting jerks like the Rhino and that weirdo who calls himself Mysterio takes a toll on my stuff, so I don’t bring them with me.”
“Then I got another way.” Derek would be lying if he said he hadn't anticipated this; he’s never deluded himself into thinking that he was a good man. “I’m a good tracker. Good sense of smell. Once I knew you were in the vicinity, I can find you by scent.”
Apparently this disclosure intrigues Spider-Man, because he moves closer. “Scent? Like, by my smell? Wait,” he lifts an arm and takes an exaggerated sniff. “Aw, man. I gotta wash this suit like yesterday. Sorry. Ew.”
Derek chuckles. “It’s not that bad. At least it smells mostly like you, and not mostly like deodorant or dumpsters or something.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s… good?” Spider-Man says, laughing back. “So what do you have to do? Just… take a good whiff?”
This is where it gets real interesting and again, Derek hasn’t survived his long life by having any sense of shame when it comes to getting what he wants. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I need to sniff you, but under your suit.” When it looks like Spider-Man is going to protest or worse, back out altogether, he quickly adds, “Near your ear, where the skin meets your hair. Or around your mouth, too, if you’ll let me.”
“Apocrine glands,” Spider-Man mutters, as if to himself. “Makes sense, huh.” He looks up. “I guess I should be glad you’re not asking to sniff my pits, or like, my crotch, right? I mean, ah-” As Derek raises an eyebrow, he stutters out, “Not that there’s nothing wrong with that, like at all? Or that I don’t want you to? I mean- Oh my god, why can’t I stop talking?”
“I don’t mind it when you talk,” Derek murmurs with a smile. “So you wanna do it, or should I?”
“What? Oh, okay. Hold on.” With that, Spider-Man carefully lifts the hood of his mask part way, right under an funny, pert little nose and over a sweet, generous mouth. A smattering of moles dot the boy’s cheeks and neck, and Derek is suddenly having a hard time breathing. “Is this good?”
The puff of air from Spider-Man’s words jerk Derek back to what he’s going to do. “Uh. Yeah. Yes. Wait, let me-” he leans forward, and oh god Spider-Man is craning his head away, displaying the smooth, pale skin of his neck and the delicate shell of his ear.
“Like this?”
“Yeah.” The word comes out breathlessly, an exhale of wonder and eagerness. Derek leans in, almost mouthing the boy's skin, more than he needs to really, and takes a deep sniff.
Derek's not given to poetry or any sort of sentimentality; he can't afford it. But this kid, this kid. Spider-Man stinks, there's no sugarcoating that fact - stale water and diesel fuel and... rats? shit, he must've fought the Rhino in the subway sewers - but underneath all of that, underneath the regular smells that everyone acquires in the course of daily living and the irregular smells that comes from fighting supervillains, is him. Whoever Spider-Man is, he smells warm, and strong, and utterly... sad. Derek knows what heartbreak smells like, hell, he's smelled it on himself for years. Not a stink like fear, or the adrenaline-scent of joy, the smell of sadness is all too familiar. Spider-Man is practically surrounded by it and Derek pulls away, surprised.
Spider-Man cocks his head. "Yeah, I must really reek, huh?"
"No," Derek lies, recovering quickly. "I mean yes, a little, but it's fine. I got your base scent."
"Oh, okay."
No, this is not okay. Derek finds himself being pulled into Spider-Man's orbit more strongly than before. Where he was at first just an amazing body with a sharp mind and quick wit, Derek is now almost desperate to know the kid. And desperate for something else.
"Hold up. Can I - ?" Without waiting for a reply, Derek gently takes Spider-Man's chin and pulls him so they're facing each other. "Let me smell you here, just to make sure."
He dips down close to that Cupid's bow of a mouth, and Spider-Man's lips part automatically, tongue peeking out, and Derek has been both fighting and chasing this urge for weeks now, but despite what the papers say, despite what even the X-Men believe, Wolverine is still just a man. And this man wants.
Later on, Spider-Man is going to claim that he initiated the kiss. All Derek cares about is finally. Like his scent, Spider-Man is warm, and under the mundane, normal flavors of coffee and spearmint gum, his breath is sweeter than it has a right to be. And while Derek’s had more than a lifetime’s worth of experience, he’s not jaded enough to appreciate and marvel at the fact that yes, Spider-Man wants him back.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s nice.” Spider-Man sounds dazed, and with the mask lifted, Derek can see his sweet, dopey smile. It’s probably a reflection of Derek’s own grin.
“Glad you approve.”
“Oh I do, I really do.” Another grin escapes as Spider-Man pulls away to lean heavily against the wall of the rooftop stairwell. “I might’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”
Derek joins him against the brick and bumps their shoulders together, mindful still of the injured leg. “Yeah? How long?”
Spider-Man worries at his lip with a finger, thinking. “Uh, since the first time I saw you fighting that asshole in the alley, remember?”
“Really?” Derek grins, going back to the night in question. He got to beat up a bigot and meet Spider-Man in the space of a few minutes. It had been a good night.
“Yeah, don’t be so modest, you were awesome.” Spider-Man says, chuckling. He glances down, suddenly shy. “So, uh. Did you want to kiss me at all before tonight?”
Derek’s grin becomes even bigger. “Maybe. Ha, hey!” He fights off Spider-Man’s deceptively strong fingers trying to dig into his ribs by grabbing them with his own. “Okay, okay. I’m not sittin’ up here because I like to look at the top of Shake Shack, you know.”
At the mention of Shake Shack, Spider-Man’s stomach gurgles. “Oh, man,” he sighs, looking up into the brightening sky. “I could use a burger right about now. Or an egg sandwich. Or a bagel. Just... food. Food would be good, I can’t believe...”
As Spider-Man rambles, Derek kicks himself for forgetting how healing yourself takes a lot of energy. His mutation takes the expenditure into account and inherently compensates for it but obviously Spider-Man’s mutated healing ability doesn’t. He’s making a mental note to start carrying protein bars so he misses the last part and- “Wait, you skipped lunch AND dinner?”
Spider-Man turns from sheepish to indignant. “You make it sound like I did it on purpose!” At Derek’s glare, he adds, “I meant to eat lunch but I got caught up with something at work, and then I was going home and I heard the sirens and -”
Derek’s heard enough. “Fine, whatever. Come on, let’s get you something to eat. What?”
Spider-Man looks sheepish again. “I don’t have my clothes on me, duh. I left them on the roof above Chat and Chew.”
“Union Square?” Derek does a quick calculation - they’re only a few blocks away. “I’ll meet you there?” But something about Spider-Man’s demeanor is off, and it’s painfully obvious, even after tonight. Derek’s stomach drops. “You still don’t want to show me what you look like.”
Spider-Man’s mouth is twisted and unhappy. “I-”
“Save it.” Unbelievable. Derek hasn’t been yanked around in more directions like this since he can remember. He pulls away and moves to stand but Spider-Man’s sudden grip holds him in place. If Derek were feeling more charitable, he’d be impressed.
“No, I do. Really!”
Derek frowns down at him. “But?”
“But,” Spider-Man lets go and slumps back, looking very small. “But I’ve never done this before, you know? Ever since-” he sighs. “Listen, people have died because of me. Because the bad guys don’t just go after me, they go after people I care about.” He looks up at Derek then, sad but strong. “Nobody is getting hurt because of me ever again.”
It takes all of Derek’s willpower not to roll his eyes, because he knows that Spider-Man is sincere. But still. “You do know that short of an atomic bomb, and maybe not even that, there’s nothing that’ll kill me, right?” And that right there is a tragedy in itself, but Spider-Man needs to know what he can expect, what he can rely on. If Derek can give him that much comfort, he will. And for a brief moment, there’s hope: Spider-Man looks like he’s seriously contemplating his words. But just as briefly, Derek’s hopes are dashed as Spider-Man shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sadly. “I can’t take off my mask. I really wish I could but I can’t take the risk. I mean, I know that I’m being paranoid and that it’s tough to kill you but I don’t even want you getting hurt for me, like ever. And I don’t want to get to the point where I’m careless and start taking off the mask in public where the wrong person might see me.” He adds, quietly, miserably, “I guess this means we’re not teaming up, huh?”
Oh, goddammit. Derek really does roll his eyes then. “Kid, I’m not gonna say I’m not disappointed, because I don’t hide who I am. Never did. Think that’s kinda cowardly, myself-”
“Hey, wait a minute!”
“But I get that you’re protecting people,” he continues smoothly, as if Spider-Man hadn’t interrupted, “And that’s NOT cowardly. I would also never expect you to do anything you don’t wanna do, not even for me.”
“Well, maybe… not right now?” Spider-Man admits, looking up at Derek again. “It’s my hang up, it’s not about you, I swear.” Deflating, he picks at a seam in his costume. “I really wish I could be like you and say fuck it, this is who I am, you know? But my dad’s in a dangerous job already and I can’t add to that, I can’t.”
Spider-Man seems unaware of what he’s just given away, but Derek latches on to the clue about his father immediately. “You don’t think we can keep your dad safe together? Maybe with the X-Men’s help?”
The boy chuckles, but it’s humorless. “That’s a really nice thought, but it’s part of his job. He doesn’t know his kid is Spider-Man. And sometimes when there’s an APB out he even has to hunt for me.” He pauses, realizing what he’s said. “Shit.” The visible line of his lips under his mask is bloodless and thin. “I just gave away that he’s a cop, didn’t I. Fuck, it’s like my mouth and my brain aren’t even connected, why do I-”
Going slowly to broadcast his intent, Derek pulls Spider-Man closer and kisses that full, pouting mouth. “Stop beating yourself up,” he admonishes the boy, who looks slightly dazed and pleased again. “There’s a million cops in this city. I already knew you were thinking about someone specific when you said that bad guys could hurt the people you care about. It’s okay. I would never give away your secrets. They’d have to kill me before I’d do that.”
“And you’re tough to kill,” Spider-Man says slowly. “You would do that. For me.”
“Well, yeah-” Derek starts, but whatever he wants to say afterwards is swallowed by Spider-Man’s tongue in his mouth. He kisses back, desperate and needy, shamelessly needy, as Spider-Man swings his now apparently healed leg over, straddling Derek’s lap.
“How are you real,” Spider-Man says, breathless and panting, as Derek starts sucking marks on whatever skin is visible. “I’m never this lucky.”
“It’s not like I go around winning the lottery either, kid,” Derek says fondly, laying a final soft kiss to Spider-Man’s neck. “I don’t even win those scratch off games.” Spider-Man laughs then, a real, hearty sound, and Derek is warmed all over. He wants to make Spider-Man laugh all the time.
“We should be lucky together then, right? We’re still teaming up?” Spider-Man asks, a bit too nonchalantly to be authentic.
Derek smiles in agreement, and it’s one of his softer ones, usually only seen by the younger mutants or his sister. Speaking of which-”
“Would it be all right if I tell my sister about you?” he asks.
Spider-Man pulls away a bit so they’re face to face. “You have a sister? I mean yeah, of course.”
“You told me about your family so I can tell you about mine,” Derek offers. “If you got a few hours to spare.”
At the mention of time, they both look up at the pinkening sky. Spider-Man groans. “I probably need a raincheck for that right now? I think I just pulled another all-nighter.” Carefully he straightens up off of Derek’s lap and holds out a hand to help him stand. “Um, this has definitely been one of the weirdest and yet greatest nights of my life,” he says shyly. “I have to be at work in a couple of hours and then I have a class which I hope I make it through, and I think I’ll have to lay low tonight. But tomorrow-?”
“Tell me where you plan to be and I’ll be there,” Derek tells him. “Or I can get Beast to lend me his police scanner and I can figure it out.”
“Or we can meet here again,” Spider-Man suggests, “My class is early so I can get here around seven and we can take it from there. Bring the scanner anyway, but I want to hear about your sister. We can, um, talk while we wait for something to do.”
Derek smirks. “Talk.”
Spider-Man playfully smacks Derek on the arm and wow, that actually might bruise a little. “Yes, talk! Or, you know, whatever you want.”
The smirk turns into a genuine smile. “Okay, fine. Sounds like a good plan,” Derek says. He grabs at Spider-Man’s hips and reels him in for a final, searing kiss. “See you tomorrow night at seven?”
“Mmm, seven. Okay.” Spider-Man is grinning and breathless again, but all too soon he lowers his mask and is walking over to the edge of the building. “See ya!”
Derek stares in unabashed amazement as Spider-Man leaps off the rooftop with a jaunty wave, disappearing and reappearing again during the upswing. Heading toward the stairway to the building, he makes a mental note to stop by the Shake Shack tomorrow, as well as raid the X-Men pantry for beer and protein bars. He’s got a date.