Work Text:
The party was held at the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four’s five-year anniversary was supposed to be low-key, but as more and more superhero allies and friends caught wind of the celebration, so did the media.
Peter was happy to have been invited, even though he had to reject the offer- after all, he couldn’t attend as both Spider-Man and Peter Parker.
There were only a handful of guests that Peter didn’t recognize, and dozens he had to pretend to not recognize. A couple of tipsy guests had come up to him asking for their picture taken. Including at one point a lawyer and his partner, Matt Murdock, who spent the whole time pointedly ignoring Peter. Smooth Matty.
Peter spent most of his time snapping pictures, carefully avoiding people and snacking at the food table.
Johnny Storm had caught his eyes a couple of times, leaving Peter to careful avoid him. It was Johnny’s house, and Peter knew he was bound to catch up with him sooner or later.
The party had been going for about two hours when Peter realized he had been cornered. The only spaces to move were through the throngs of people he was also trying to avoid, or through Johnny. Peter took a deep breath and put on his game face.
Johnny had a glass of champaign and was swaying gently to the music. Peter stuffed the rest of his hors d’oeuvre into his face and waited for the inevitable.
‘Parker!’ Johnny exclaimed, leaning on Peter’s shoulder. ‘Sent by the Bugle, huh?’ Johnny was a little tipsy, his eyes wide and intense.
‘You know it.’ Peter responded with a tense smile.
‘Can’t be often you get to come to parties like this? Bet you gonna get a butt load of money off of this party. Better this than slandering Spider-Man, right?’ Johnny gave himself a shake as though to shake off his irritation. Johnny snatched another champagne flute. ‘There’s gotta be a good amount of money in showing off the superhero lifestyle, huh? Gotta show people what they are missing out on more than just violence.’
‘Anything you say, Hotstuff.’ Peter chuckled raising his camera to snap a candid of Jennifer Walters with her boyfriend.
Johnny pushed the extra champagne towards Peter. Peter acquiesced if just to diffuse his own tension.
Peter sent him an amused glance. With a blush, Johnny realized he’d been staring.
‘So, what are you taking pictures of?’ Johnny cleared his throat.
Peter simply gestured at the crowd.
‘Yeah, but of what? I figure if you’re making money from this, it’s probably more than just a group picture.’ Johnny finished his drink.
‘Well, I got a nice one of Jen and John over there.’ Peter held up the display showing Jennifer Walters towering over her boyfriend, with him gazing lovingly up at her. The chaos of the party was blurred around them like a halo.
‘I was told to -and I quote- ‘get the superhuman angle, Parker! We want to bedazzle the readers so they don’t realize how boring those schmutz parties are.’’
‘You’re bored?’ Johnny asked, only half-listening. All of the guests painted a gorgeous picture. Everything that was good about parties without bad choices and drinking games. Johnny itched to be among them, while also feeling suffocated by them.
‘So, you weren’t listening to anything I just said?’ Peter’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
‘What? I … No!’ Johnny stuttered.
‘Oh yeah, what did I just say?’
Johnny got ready to snap back before recognizing a teasing pull at Peter’s lips.
‘Okay, I might have zoned out for a moment there.’
‘I was saying that I almost got a good one of Sue, but she went invisible just as I took the picture, so it’s just an empty space. Here, see?’ Peter showed Johnny a shot of empty space that Janet van Dyne and Hank Pym seemed to be talking to.
‘Yeah, well… are you almost done? You got enough pictures yet?’
Peter’s pretty brow creased, whether in frustration or confusion Johnny couldn’t tell. ‘C’mon Parker, drink with me, for new time's sake.’ Johnny ploughed on. Johnny didn’t want to re-join the party just yet; he also didn’t want to just linger on the edges. A small part of him didn’t want to leave Peter either.
Peter woke from one of the worst sleeps of his life. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He groaned lightly. Head buried in the pillow; Peter tried to work out who had beat his ass this time. He had been at the Fantastic Four’s party, but he didn’t remember swinging home. Or getting home at all. Moments passed and Peter realized that only his head hurt. There were no tell-tale pains or aches in his limbs that could justify the headache.
Peter pushed himself up. His stomach lurched. ‘Oh god.’ Peter muttered. He could taste bile. Peter lowered himself down.
‘Good morning to you too.’ A familiar voice responded, cocky and familiar.
He was in Johnny Storm’s bedroom. He was dressed in only his jocks, and he was in Johnny Storm’s bed. ‘Oh god.’ Peter repeated.
Something smelled really good. ‘I made us bacon and eggs!’
At this, Peter pushed himself up. His stomach gurgled unhappily. Johnny pressed a glass of water into his hands. Peter drank it down greedily.
Johnny looked infuriatingly good as usual. He was in only a pair of white and blue track pants, slung low over his hips. There were tiny bruises on Johnny’s waist. A small pattering of finger-sized bruises over the swell of his hips. Peter remembered causing them.
Embarrassment washed over Peter.
‘I don’t remember much?’ Peter trailed off looking down and missed how Johnny’s face fell.
‘Well… We mostly just made out, a little bit of hand stuff.’ Johnny told him as easily as if they were discussing the weather. ‘I gotta say, you have an impressive physique for someone who takes photos for a living.’ Johnny gazed Peter up and down. He really was a work of art. Peter blushed at the praise. A cute work of art too.
‘Here, I’ve got some Panadol that will make short work of your headache.’ Peter accepted the pills even though they wouldn’t be effective on him.
‘You don’t drink much, do you? I would almost be worried if it wasn’t you coming on to me all of last night.’ Johnny couldn’t help the pride in his voice. He knew was very attractive, confirmation was always flattering though. Peter blushed again.
‘The photos,’ he gasped, shooting up from the bed just to sit down as a wave of dizziness passed over him. ‘What- what time is it?’
Johnny passed him his camera, ‘About 10 am. There are some really good pictures in there, by the way.’
‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck shit fuck. I have to go. Jameson is going to kill me.’ Peter looked around wildly for his shirt. Shoving it on, grabbing his camera and his shoes, Peter propelled himself out of the door without a goodbye, which he would later come to regret.
Johnny looked at the sizzling bacon with a twinge of disappointment and loneliness. Looks like he was eating breakfast alone again.