Chapter Text
Flash Thompson was expected to show up to any and all killer parties in his area. He wasn’t entirely sure when it had become an unwritten rule, but he wasn’t exactly complaining.
Especially when he found himself face to face with a gorgeous blonde from an entirely different state. He had been swaying his hips in the corner, looking a little lost when Flash approached him with a cup of amber liquid. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, he hadn’t tasted it for himself just yet, but he had an inkling it probably held some sort of alcohol.
“Welcome to New York,” Flash smirked, leaning against the moulding of the entryway. The blonde glanced up, a smirk falling over his lips.
“Who says I ain’t been here before?” A thick southern accent was not what Flash had expected when he opened his mouth. He had been prepared for Maryland, maybe even Rhode Island. But the sweet honey that dripped from his mouth was not like anything Flash has ever experienced before. Maybe it was the buzz from his earlier drinks affecting his brain, but something warm settled in his lower abdomen.
“Well, if you have, I would have known.” Flash shrugged. He was still trying to come to terms with his feelings towards same and opposite sex. On one hand, he loved the soft curves and long hair of women. But on the other, something about the roughness of a man’s five o’clock, and thick builds did something for him.
“Ah, you must be Flash then.” The blonde nodded sagely. A fleeting moment of panic flashed over the shorter teen’s features. Because surely, if the kid knew his name, then he had probably been informed of his reputation. Not usually the best way for him to start off—they expected his facade.
“Sure,” He shrugged, jaw clenched a bit as he lifted the cup up to his lips. “If that’s what people have told you.”
“Not people.” The blonde shook his head, chuckling softly. A look of warmth spread over his features as he glanced up, just past Flash’s head. “Person. Over here Petey-Pie!” He lifted an arm, waving it in the air and calling attention to himself for a fraction of a moment. Across the room, Peter Parker looked like an uncomfortably lost puppy. His brown eyes zoned in on Flash, before visibly swallowing.
“U-uh, hey...hey Flash.” The smaller teen fidgeted anxiously. It had been a little over two weeks since Flash had called Tony Stark into Midtown’s boy locker room. He hadn’t really seen too much of the other brunette since. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved that Peter was okay. “I got you a drink, Harls.”
“Thanks, Sugar.” Harls, supposedly, draped an arm around the petite brunette’s waist. He looked overly comfortable around him, and Flash was just a little bit jealous. But he couldn’t decide on whom. “No offense, Flash.” He winked, offering a white toothed smile at him.
“None taken,” Flash swallowed, glancing at Parker. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”
Peter, for all that he was worth, paused a bit, eyes wide and owlish. Flash was sure he hadn’t been expecting the comment. Especially given their history. But something in Parker’s reaction started a small ache in Flash’s chest. Surely he hadn’t expected him to just let him die? Or go about his day with a majorly infected stab wound?
“Er...Thanks. Like a lot for that.” Peter pursed his lips, pulling his cup up to his mouth. “Tony said you helped a lot, but disappeared once he got there.”
Harls, watching the brunette by his side, simply nodded. His own jaw was drawn tight at the mention of previous events.
“Seriously,” The blonde nodded, his hand tightening ever so slightly around Peter’s waist. “Thank you. Tony would say it himself...but ya know.” He snorted a bit, bumping his hip into his partners. A motion that did not go unnoticed by the third party. “He’s got a heart condition that can only handle so much.”
In response, Peter’s nose scrunched up. It caused the shorter boy to resemble an angry puppy—cute, and slightly infuriating. Flash felt like he was intruding on something.
“I’m a go check on everyone,” He nodded, trying to control whatever emotion was bubbling under his chest. “You guys have fun. Enjoy the night.” He sounded short; unimpressed with whatever was going on. It had been a long time since he felt awkward in his own skin—since he was eleven at least. He didn’t like it just as much now, as he did then.
Strutting around the party, Flash said his hellos; high fived the right people, flirted with the right girls, and drank the right drinks. Then he allowed himself to collapse on his couch, head leaning back against the plush cushion. He had spent his night surrounded by people, but a wave of overwhelming loneliness washed over him. For just a moment, he allowed tears to build up in the corner of his eyes.
Then the couch dipped beside him. Still, he didn’t turn to look, resigned to a night on the couch. The other kids could make as big of a mess as they wanted; Flash would just have his maid clean it in the morning. He had already removed all of the important showpieces his parents had set up around the house.
“People are starting to leave.” Parker’s voice barely made it over the loud thrum of bass that pounded through his house. “Do you..need help cleaning up or anything?”
“No,” Flash sighed, straightening himself up. “Nah...I’ll have Bea do it in the morning.”
“Well...we’re offerin’ to stay and help. Least we can do for whatcha did for Petey.” Harley—Flash had properly learned his name from some random passerby—leaned on the back of the couch behind the brunette. “It wouldn’t be fair to your cleanin’ lady.”
“I...I guess I won’t say no.” Flash drug a hand through his hair then over his face. He couldn’t recall a time that he had felt so detached from a party—neither before, during, nor after. He pushed himself to his feet, heaving a sigh as he turned towards the kitchen. If he had to pick a room…
The cleaning, with three people working on it, went fairly quick. They decluttered, wiped counters, and did a few rounds of dishes. In between his chores, Flash bid his visitors farewell.
“Thanks,” He muttered tiredly. Tossing the dish towel over his shoulder, he led Peter and Harley to the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in school?” Flash arched a brow—the question of in one piece was silent between them.
Peter nodded quietly, glancing up to Harley. The blonde hummed a bit as he reached to squeeze the back of Parker’s neck lightly. It was an intimate gesture that spoke volumes of their relationship.
“You’ll prolly see Petey-Pie...but im doin’ home school.” Harley smiles a bit. “Ain’t ready for the big city school just yet.” Harley chuckled checking his watch. “Thanks for the party man. We had a good time.”
Flash nodded, telling them they were welcome over anytime—given the situation—and watched them head out to a beat up rusty truck. He worried for a moment that they wouldn’t be able to make it into town.
Then Parker paused, hand reaching out to snag the back of Harley’s shirt. He tugged the other teenager back just as a mysterious glow seemed to envelope the truck.
“What the f-“ Flash didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before the vehicle was being launched towards his house. He barely had time to launch himself out of the path of the truck before a guy with,oddly, eight arms snatched him up by the back of his shirt.
“Tut, tut, Parker.” The voice barked. It was high pitched, nasally, and sounded like whoever was speaking suffered from a never ending sinus infection. “You left the party open.” Flash grunted, the collar of his shirt was starting to cut into his throat. There would be likely bruising, and if he was lucky, little damage from the way his feet dangled below him.
“Let him go, Doc Oc.” Peter tensed in his position next to Harley. He looked both ready and perplexed by the turn of events. Harley, however, looked rather unimpressed—as if this type of thing was an everyday occurence for him.
“You would like that,” The man nodded. There was a slight wheeze to his chest—like every breath he was drawing in was a bit of a struggle. “But I’m afraid that won’t happen. You won’t listen to me without a hostage.” The arm holding Flash jerked him around; treating him very much like a rag doll, and not a person.
“He can’t breathe like that!” Peter stepped forward, eyes never leaving the metal claws that danced around Flash’s face. “He’s a civilian, Otto. He isn’t...he can’t…”
“No, he can’t. But will Spider-Man save him, or will Peter Parker?” Otto grinned maliciously. “You have to make a choice Parker.” Flash grunted, wheezing as the circulation his face was cut off even further. His hands moved to fumble with the buttons on his shirt—how he regretted it now. Just as his breath seemed to cut off for good, he managed to push the button through the opening. He threw his arms up straight, and allowed himself to fall through.
“Wha-“Otto glanced down at the teenager, both surprised and flabbergasted.
Meanwhile, Flash rubbed his throat where there would no doubt be a bruise and glared up at the man.
“We go to the same school,” He hissed, finding himself rather insulted by the man that had snatched him. “I’m not an idiot. Center of gravity and all that…” Flash waved his hand, managing to throw himself to the side just as Otto sent another arm. Harley, for all he was worth, was cackling in his spot.
“I..”
“It's not like in the movies, Doc Oc.” Peter smirked—looking far more confident than Flash had ever recalled seeing him. Flash put away whatever was swelling, and rushed away from the man that had taken to ruining (perhaps bettering?) his night. “Not everyone is just a damsel in distress.”
Flash wouldn’t even try to deny the indignant squawk that made its way up his throat.
“We better step aside,” Harley hummed watching the shorter teen approach the villain of the night. “Pete can get a little excited sometimes. He’ll pro’lly take this guy for a rodeo.”
And he did.
Flash followed Harley across the street to his neighbors lawn, and watched as the red suit enveloped his frienemy. He really wasn’t all that surprised; Parker had a hard time keeping his mouth shut, and Ned Lesds usually only exacerbated the energy. It hadn’t been too long after Homecoming that he had put two and two together. Peter missed two weeks of school, and Spider-Man took two weeks off. And then of course, the vocal identifier program he had on his computer had confirmed it.
“Kid!” This time, the fight—-which really wasn’t so much of a fight, Flash noted—was interrupted by the sound of Iron Man’s thrusters. “Friday said there was a party?”
“Keyword, old man!” Harley called, his arms crosses over his chest. “Was. Now it's just an awkward date.” Flash snorted from his own position, laying down on the grass. Because, after all, what the hell had his life become tonight?