Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Working in Hell’s Kitchen is always the same—it leaves Peter much more stressed out than he was before, which is usually the complete opposite of how a fight ends for him. At the end of a battle, there came relief. It’s a hesitant relief, as battles can sometimes look finished and not be, but there is relief nonetheless. 

Hell’s Kitchen, ten blocks of midtown Manhattan, has the ability to put Spider-Man on edge even when there’s nothing around. 

Because Daredevil is always around. Peter doesn’t know for sure, but he would bet everything in his pockets that the man lives and works in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He’s too protective of it to do anything else, and Daredevil doesn’t have a way to make quick ground outside of running. 

Hell’s Kitchen, at night and for some parts of the day, could reek of alpha. Daredevil doesn’t use scent blockers during his patrols, which Peter can only imagine is intimidating to anyone trying to start something. 

For people who don’t have enhanced senses, it doesn’t reek that much. Unless the Devil was there or was just there, they probably couldn’t even smell it. 

But for Peter, it was like a wave of alpha took over when he entered Hell’s Kitchen, the scent clinging to walls and firescapes and anything else the other vigilante has been around.

And now, even during a fight, he’s taken aback by the feeling of it. 

Half-organic, half-mechanical robots are waging war in Hell’s Kitchen, in a way Daredevil can’t handle on his own. Otherwise, Peter would’ve held himself back, just outside of the neighborhood lines until Daredevil was overpowered. 

Even though the thought of leaving him makes his fangs ache and has venom dripping onto his tongue. 

Peter webs a robot sneaking up on Daredevil to the wall behind it, and Miles uses his bioelectricity to fry them. Miles is one of the most effective people here, able to take on multiple robots and fry them with only a moment’s notice. It’s still not clear how the organic bits got into the robots to begin with, but Peter’s fairly certain—he’s hoping—that they aren’t parts of real people, but rather grown in a lab. 

The electricity fries the connectors between the organic and the mechanical, making them spasm and drop onto the ground. It seems to be a permanent solution thus far, with none of the robots getting up, but Peter’s keeping his eyes out.

Clint, who seemed to be the only Avenger in the area, shoots electrified arrows, Peter webs the robots to the ground for either of the other two to electrify or kicks them out of commission himself, and Daredevil uses the classic method of “beat them senseless with a billy club.”

Daredevil and him aren’t close, but it’s a manufactured distance. Peter’s worked with the other man, and they have as close of a camaraderie as you can have with someone as abrasive as Daredevil. Peter’s almost certain that, if he wanted, he could get himself close to the alpha. 

Or, maybe Peter was one of the very few whose true mates weren’t matched with them, who had a need for someone who could never need them back. With his luck, that’s probably the case. He can’t try it, though, can’t test it. It’s been a full calendar year since he’d first smelled his true mate, and therefore, a full calendar year since he high-tailed it in the other direction. 

After May dying, after Otto ran rampant in New York— because of you, his brain unhelpfully adds—meeting his true mate was the last thing he wanted. It’d only been a few weeks after, when he’d been investigating Black Cat’s newest job, that he’d smelled him. 

Late at night, Peter was looking for any evidence of what Black Cat was working on, and he found himself in Hell’s Kitchen. He had been lucky so far. He’d worked rarely in Hell’s Kitchen, but he’d never had a run in with the infamous Devil that fought in the dark. 

He smelled him before he saw him. His spidey sense didn’t warn him, but Peter later realized it never would. 

Daredevil hadn’t known, and still doesn’t— no one can smell through his scent blockers—but being near the other man is nerve-wracking. He doesn’t know the extent of Daredevil’s senses, but he’s seen the other man react to things he can only barely hear, if at all. If Peter has to guess, he would think the other can hear his heartbeat from across a ballroom. 

He watches as Daredevil kicks one of the robots upside the head, the kick hard enough that the force knocks the head aside, exposing wires threaded through veins before it falls down, twitching. At the same time, another one comes up from behind him and grabs Daredevil by the shoulder, its mechanical hand strong enough that Peter can hear the bone fracture before it throws the alpha against a wall. 

Peter swings down, ramming into the robot feet first with all of his momentum. The force takes out another one behind it, the first one’s chest caved in. Peter’s fangs are fully unsheathed now, his longer than average ones piercing his tongue. His venom doesn’t affect him, but it is still uncomfortable. 

Landing on the ground next to where Daredevil was thrown, he’s relieved to see Daredevil stirring. He’s slower than usual, but Peter doesn’t see any damage done to his helmet. Peter holds out an arm, and breathes through his mouth when Daredevil takes it. The touch is like fire even through his suit, and his scent is way too distracting. 

Hopefully, the fight was too much of a distraction for Daredevil to hear his increase in heartbeat. 

The normally talkative Spider-Man can’t typically be as quippy with Daredevil there, his inner omega furious at the sight of its mate in danger. His fangs are almost already unsheathed at the beginning of every fight, meaning his talking is reduced to whispers unless he wants to announce to the whole class that his fangs are out. He’s sure if he fought with him more his body would get used to it, but since it’s only once every few months, he’s not been given the chance to desensitize himself. 

Spider-Man is a beta, that’s the general consensus. There are some that think he’s an alpha, but most think beta. He’s only seen a few people speculate that he’s an omega, but it is few and far between. If people knew he had fangs, they’d know the beta stance was wrong. He could explain it away as a “spider” thing, as Miles also developed fangs even though he’s a beta, but he didn’t want to reveal that, either. 

Every bit of information that leaks on either Spider-Man is another thing that can get them found out. 

The robot's numbers are dwindling, and Peter takes to the rooftops once more. 

“You’d think with all the so-called tech these things have, they’d be able to cover aerial attacks.” He whispers. The whispers hide the lisp, but he knows Daredevil can hear it. There were times Peter really wished he had one of the Avengers comms, but that came with the possibility of them tracking him down, and the idea of having Tony Stark breathing down his neck is an unpleasant one. 

Peter, stuck to a wall overhead, shoots a web at one of them and then throws them into another. “Their little necks can’t even look up. Like a bodybuilder who does neck day, every day. You’d think,” Peter jumps overhead, webbing three of the robots to the ground, “that’d get a little uncomfortable.”

The fight in and of itself isn’t the most strenuous, but it’s time-consuming. Miles electrocutes the three Peter webbed down, while also taking out a few more on the ground. A spider usually fought best with his webs, but Miles figured out the robots couldn’t see him when he was invisible, and with that, he could get close enough to use his bioelectricity the most effectively.

There are only a few more, Peter swinging to hit one of them before they all fall to the floor. 

“Ah!” Peter shouted, eyes widening at his target disappearing. He detaches his web, rolling onto the ground with a bit more force than he’d planned. His spidey sense was great, and saved him more times than not, but it didn’t usually notify him that a threat would be gone. 

He landed near where Daredevil was, and Peter looked at him in confusion. He licked his fangs, urging them to fold back into his palate, and they finally did with the slightest squelching sound. 

Daredevil’s head moves slightly in Peter’s direction, and he decides to ignore the fact that Daredevil definitely heard that. 

“Can you hear anything?” Peter asks, his voice low, he allows himself to walk closer, head on a swivel as he approaches Daredevil. 

Daredevil’s quiet for a few moments before he replies. “An EMP set off by someone took them out. Don’t know who, all I heard was the pulse.”

Peter looks at Daredevil, his eyebrows furrowing, “You can hear an electromagnetic pulse.” It wasn’t a question. 

Daredevil shrugs, a smirk threatening to show on his lips. “You can’t?” 

Peter rolls his eyes. The movement isn’t visible under his mask, but he knows he’s done it. Peter looks around, making eye contact with Miles. Nodding at each other, they get to work. Peter webs all of the robots on the ground that he can see, and Miles electrocutes them all. The EMP is useful, but those don’t last forever, and Peter’s not about to start this whole fight over again. 

Daredevil’s still standing where he was when Peter left him, looking to be favoring his left side over his right. The robot that grabbed him had grabbed his right side, slamming him to the left. In the heat of the moment, Peter must not have noticed. 

His fangs are still threatening to come out upon recognizing the scent of Daredevil’s blood, but Peter manages to ask, “You okay?”

Lips quirking into more of a smile than Peter has ever seen on the other man, Daredevil replies, “I’ve had worse.” He walks forward, closer to Peter. “The Avengers almost always cause more damage than necessary, and we’ve had to rebuild the Kitchen too many times in the last few years.” These might be the most words Daredevil has ever spoken to Peter. “I know you don’t like me,” Peter’s heart speeds up, his face flushing from just how wrong that statement is, and Daredevil pauses for a moment before continuing, “I wouldn’t actually mind working with you. You respect it here.” Daredevil holds out his hand, Peter’s mouth going dry at the sight. 

Peter doesn’t disagree with Daredevil, not at all. The Avengers tend to treat the land around them as necessary collateral damage rather than people’s homes, their livelihoods. That’s just another reason why Spider-Man stays a friendly neighborhood vigilante, rather than an Avenger on a payroll. 

Getting paid for vigilantism would be very cool, though. Peter’s wallet almost begs for it. 

Peter was used to talking to Daredevil and never getting a reply back—what was different? Was the lack of property destruction really the only reason the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was holding his hand out? 

Peter takes the hand offered. Daredevil is usually, well, terrifying. His image is one of the things that keeps him safe. Peter’s not seen any sort of healing factor, or any other obvious mutation besides his senses. He doesn’t have access to the type of tech that Stark does, either.

It’s a struggle, but Peter finally manages to say, “Just call me if you need me. I do actually have a phone number.” Daredevil’s head cocks to the side in question before Peter continues, “Obviously, it’s not my personal one, but what vigilante doesn’t have a burner flip phone?”

Daredevil nods at that, letting go of Peter’s hand. He takes out his own burner phone and gives it to Peter wordlessly. 

Peter types in a quick “Spider-Man” followed by his number and quickly sends himself a text. Once his burner vibrates in his pocket, he gives the other his phone back with a smile. Halfway through, Peter realizes Daredevil can’t see it through his mask, but whatever. Maybe he can hear it, with those ears of his. Peter’s heard of stranger things, given the company he keeps. 

Daredevil does a two finger salute before disappearing into the alley behind. 

— 

The thing that people always tell you when you’re going through your sex ed, is that once you find your true mate, your body is going to crave them. Their scent, their touch, their bite—all of the things Peter is not getting. 

Peter lets his head drop down onto the table in front of him, making Miles flinch from the unexpected noise. 

“Dude, you’ve gotta talk to someone about this. I’m a beta and I can smell your distress from here. ”

Peter lifts his head to look at Miles with a glare. “One: you’re a foot away from me. That’s not an impressive distance. Two: we’re spiders, Miles.” 

After Miles was bitten, the influx of smells he’d previously never been able to sense as a beta hit him full-force. Betas can tell if someone’s an omega or alpha, can smell if a heat or rut is coming on, but that’s the extent of their senses. Miles was forced into sensing things betas shouldn’t know, like the smells certain emotions bring. 

Miles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But you can’t exactly help me with my physics homework when you’re sulking.” Miles pulls out his phone, clicking the contact of the one other person Peter has in his life. 

Peter sighs. “She knows about it, and there’s nothing she can do to help.” Taking a brief glance at the computer screen in front of them, Peter smiles in relief. “After this question, everything is stuff we’ve already gone over.” Miles raises an eyebrow at him—since when did he start doing that? —but doesn’t fight when Peter tugs on his mask and makes his escape. 

If Peter hadn’t left Otto to his own devices, he wouldn’t have done the experiment that made him Doc Ock. If Peter had just been present , Aunt May wouldn’t have died. Even though Peter originally fled from Daredevil because he was tired of twists and turns in his life, that doesn’t mean he isn’t grateful for that split second decision. As far as Peter can tell, Daredevil is a human with no healing factor, and everyone around Peter manages to get themselves hurt in some way. 

MJ and Miles are the only ones who know of his predicament, and unfortunately, both of them share the same opinion. 

“ Just tell him!” Peter mocks in a high-pitched voice as he swings through the city, getting further and further away from Miles’ house. 

It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate it. Without MJ and Miles, he isn’t sure he would’ve made it through May’s death. Even though MJ and him aren’t in a relationship anymore, having her and Miles is what’s kept him going—what’s currently keeping him going. 

The first time he’d told MJ this, she’d said, “And Daredevil could be that for you, too.” 

She’s right; she usually is when it comes to matters of the heart. Or, is it that she’s just less wrong than Peter? Most are. Peter’s pretty sure he could go to anyone on the street and 90% of them would be scolding his life choices. 

Whenever he’s swinging through the city, he has to be careful of where he’s going. His subconscious always wants to go back to the Kitchen, no matter his destination. It isn’t like Daredevil is all he thinks about, Peter’s distracted enough from his daily life that he goes days, sometimes weeks without thinking of the other man. 

But, the closer it gets to his heat, the worse this gets. 

Alphas and omegas alike need time with their mate before their heats or ruts—it’s a fact of life. Going without means that, whatever it is you’re going through, is going to be ten times worse than it would’ve been before. 

Since realizing his true mate dilemma, Peter’s heats have been hell. 

It isn’t enough to make him seek out Daredevil, as Peter’s greatest skill starts with “a” and ends with “voidance,” but it’s enough to bring him to hate the two times a year where Peter’s body craves him. If Peter wasn’t the sole owner of the world’s strongest scent blocker, the smell of distressed omega would permeate the air around him. When Peter has time before a patrol, he bathes in the stuff, but oftentimes he finds himself relying on the suit and the spray bottle in his bag to do his dirty work if it’s an emergency. 

Hitting the apex of a swing, Peter revels in the freefall. Swinging is one of the most dangerous parts of the job—one mess up and you’re a bug on a windshield—but it’s the most freeing, too. He lets himself get only a few meters above the ground before he thwips a web to catch himself. 

Who knows how Daredevil would react to his omega being Spider-Man? Most alphas don’t just accept their mates putting themselves in danger every night. Daredevil might try to keep him. 

Perching like a gargoyle on the tallest building around, Peter covers his face with his hands. There were pages upon pages of reasons to not go to Daredevil, but Peter still found himself arguing with them. 

Daredevil is, Peter believes, a good man. He’s more violent than himself, but not by much. Spider-Man can beat the hell out of someone and the only one who complains is Jameson, whereas Daredevil leaves someone a bit bloodied up and there’s a public outcry. He doesn’t believe in the idea that you have to love your true mate—it may make things a little easier, but Peter’s heard of true mates that hurt each other just like any couple. Peter could find another alpha that would do the job just fine. 

Ever since getting the other’s phone number, he’s been thinking about how Peter could spend time with Daredevil. Inviting himself onto the other’s patrol may be a bit more than Daredevil can handle, but Peter could find a way. 

Peter shakes his head, as though that would abolish the thoughts of the other vigilante. It doesn’t, but at least he feels like he did something. The city’s more quiet than usual, which makes suspicion nag at the back of his head, but he can’t check every crevice of New York by himself, and Miles is holed up doing homework. 

Miles would abandon the assignment in a heartbeat, but Peter doesn’t want Miles to be him. Every year, Peter Parker gives up more of himself for Spider-Man. MJ felt it, May felt it—everyone Peter has tried to keep a relationship with has felt the space that Spider-Man puts between them. 

It wouldn’t be any different with Daredevil, no matter how compatible they are. 

Every time he allows himself to think of him, it goes this way. Rambling thoughts jumping from reason to reason of why he should or should not seek the other out. 

Spider-Man eventually makes his way back to Queens, slipping into his raggedy apartment through the window. His first night at this new place had been spent getting it back on track and greasing the window with WD-40. It still squeaks a little bit, but it at least doesn’t alert the whole damn building that he’s going in and out anymore, which was the main goal. 

The wallpaper is peeling, revealing what Peter is pretty sure is black mold. He’d yet to figure out if his spidey sense would tell him if there was black mold—does black mold even hurt him with his powers? He doesn’t know. 

His last place had been leagues better, but it still wasn’t top-of-the-line. Peter put more emphasis on trying to actually pay rent at this new place lest he get evicted while on a mission again, which meant that his next interview really needed to go well. He’d signed May’s house over to MJ when he couldn’t keep up with the payments, so he knows she’ll always have a place to go back to. 

In the corner, on the bare floor, was a twin mattress that Peter had been lucky enough to find at a Goodwill. He’s lucky enough to be able to smell if there are bedbugs on anything, so it isn’t as risky for him to buy hand me down bedding. Flopping onto the bed, Peter pulls out his phone. 

The “work” phone he has, his flip phone, is in much better condition than his personal one. The flip phone held up much better in the face of excessive torment. Most smartphones wouldn’t last long being kept in the pocket of a spandex suit that was slammed into walls on the regular. 

The screen is cracked all to hell, duct tape on the sides the only thing preventing the phone from coming apart all together. The screen has a hard time registering input in the right place anymore, meaning Peter can click one thing and the screen either doesn’t react, or it presses something entirely different. It’s close to being completely unusable, but Peter doesn’t have another phone, and can’t really afford one. After Otto, he’s been switching between jobs trying to make ends meet. Staying with MJ really just solidified in his brain that he needed to live alone. MJ’s a great friend, but after signing over the house to her, it felt wrong to stay in Aunt May’s place. 

Too much pain, too many memories of things he couldn’t control—

But, a twin mattress in a place he can control—even if the living room, kitchen, and bedroom were all the same room—is much more tolerable. 

Scrolling through the app Miles’ friend Ganke built, he browses the various things people request help on. 

The app is supposed to be for the smaller things you might not want to call the police for. Cat stuck in a tree is the classic example, even if instances of that are few and far between. Dogs loose, locked out of house, need to teach some bullies a lesson, etc. are the type of things the app is used for. 

There are always some people requesting basic housework, as though Peter or Miles are going to drop what they’re doing and swing to your house to do your dishes, but Peter admires the attempt. Dishes are hard—sometimes he wishes he could summon someone from the sky to do them. 

He only has three dishes total, but even then sometimes it’s a process. 

The location is always a necessity when posting, and only admins can see it. Peter may or may not usually send the Hell’s Kitchen requests Miles’s way, because he’s a coward, but with Daredevil’s handshake in mind, he’s considering actually taking some of them up. Maybe at some point, he can even give Daredevil a key to the app so he could help out more in his community, too. 

Peter laughs at the thought. Daredevil, to his knowledge, doesn’t usually stop to rescue kittens from trees. He’s helpful, incredibly helpful, but only in the ways that he knows how to be. 

It’s not the only time that Peter considers what the other may do in his daily life. He doesn’t have many theories, what with Daredevil being so tightlipped about everything . It works to keep a secret identity, but that doesn’t mean Peter has to like it.

Not all of the requests are something he can help with, or they’re something the people making the requests can easily do themselves. Carefully turning off the phone, he sets it on the ground next to him and closes his eyes. It’s only four, but he’s in between jobs, anyway, and vigilantes need to sleep, too. 

—

The thought of letting an alpha in almost makes Peter feel more sick than his heat does. 

The dozens of spiders that make up Peter’s genome are of all different sexes, which makes his scent, and his reactions to other’s scents, a real crapshoot. Sometimes he smells of fertile omega, and sometimes he has undertones of virile alpha. He isn’t an alpha, and never has been, but even he realizes how much of a threat he can seem to people who don’t know him. 

Instead of the calming scent most omegas like MJ have, Peter’s can shift quickly into something that spells danger to an alpha. 

It’s befitting of his personality, but it does hamper his chances with pretty much everyone with half a brain cell. He can purr like an omega, but growl like an alpha. Most alphas don’t want someone stronger than them, and they definitely don’t want one whose scent tells people to keep away. 

It’s nearing nighttime now, when his pre-heat cramps get even worse, and taking the night off seems like the best thing Peter could do. Straying far from his apartment isn’t wise, especially if he so much as approached Hell’s Kitchen. With heat coming in a few days, being subjected to Daredevil’s incredibly strong scent isn’t wise. The scent blockers would hold for a few hours even in the midst of heat, but he’d rather not test it. 

It just so happens that’s when his “work” phone rings. 

Peter looks at the phone vibrating next to his bed like it’s a gun to his head. The only people who have that number are vigilantes and anti-heroes, and Deadpool is the only person who regularly tries to contact him. 

Deadpool’s on a mission out of the country, last he heard, so unless there is a crisis—

The phone’s tiny screen reads “DD.”

Peter groans, tears pricking his eyes in frustration. He picks up the phone on the last ring, trying to keep his feelings from coming through in his voice.

Before Peter can get a word out, Daredevil starts talking. His words are calm and measured, so Peter’s hackles don’t raise quite yet. 

“Come down to the Kitchen, and you’ll get to help with recon.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You can’t do your own recon?”

Daredevil huffs through the phone. “I can, but the place I need to recon in has a bunch of vents that I can’t reach without being able to climb up walls.”

“Which is where I come in.” Peter deadpans, gritting his teeth through another cramp. 

“Exactly.” There’s a pause before Daredevil speaks again, “If you’re preoccupied, I can handle it myself.”

Shit, he must’ve heard that. He’s surprised the microphone even picks up a sound as small as that, but he supposes that’s just his luck. 

Peter breathes deeply, closing his eyes before he lets out, “No, no. Just… don’t worry about it. Where?” 

After a moment of contemplation, Daredevil rattles off an address. “How soon can you be here?”

Peter looks to the one cabinet in his kitchen that holds the one heat suppressant shot he has left. Proper heat suppressants are expensive and only work to stave off heat for roughly forty-eight hours. Peter’s shouldn’t even be starting for a few more days, but the suppressant should act as insurance. 

Getting out of bed, Peter bites his tongue on another cramp, and says into the phone, “Give me twenty.”

Chapter Text

Spider-Man’s heartbeat is racing even more than usual. His scent is as imperceptible as it always is—Matt has always wanted to ask where he gets his blockers—but even without that, Matt can tell Spider-Man is distressed in some way. 

The moment Spider-Man touches down, his heartbeat is all Matt can hear. He’s already thinking he’s made a mistake by inviting him—Daredevil usually works alone, and its for good reason—but Spider-Man is the best of the heroes around here. Matt wasn’t lying when he said Spider-Man actually cares for the city around him. 

Matt doesn’t ask if he’s okay, not wanting to hear a lie, so he motions the other forward and gets on with it. The place they’re going to be invading is a warehouse, one that’s been renovated to have very little cover inside. If you enter through the front or back doors, you’ll be lit up. Every entrance one could possibly take is in the eyeline of the people inside. 

Except for the ventilation to the outside. 

Matt explains all this, noting how Spider-Man’s heartbeat seems to even out as he focuses on the mission. Good. 

Spider-Man looks away, and Matt can hear the subtle sound of the eyes in his mask zooming in to get a better picture. He huffs out a laugh. “You think I can fit in there?”

“Sure do.”

The entrance is very small, much smaller than anything Matt could fit through, but Spider-Man is much more flexible and quiet than anyone he knows. Spider-Man has folded in ways Matt didn’t think people could fold, has heard the flexibility of the other man’s joints with his very ears. 

Yeah, Spider-Man can fit. 

Spider-Man sighs, but his heart rate has evened out fully now. Usually, it’s the opposite. The longer Spider-Man is around Matt, the more erratic his heart rate is. 

Matt isn’t stupid; he knows when someone’s attracted to him, but the sudden change of behavior is interesting. If they didn’t have things to do tonight, he would perhaps ask him to go somewhere else, spend some more time in each other’s company so Matt could see what made the other man tick. Spider-Man is infinitely attractive to him even if Matt doesn’t know his secondary gender—that type of stuff doesn’t matter. 

Unfortunately, that time can’t be tonight. 

After going over the plan once more—Matt can tell Spider-Man hates the repetition, but it’s a necessary evil—Matt concludes, “I don’t have any way of talking to you once you’re in there.”

Spider-Man’s eyebrow hairs scratch the inside of his mask as he raises his eyebrow at Matt. 

“If things go bad, I’ll hear, and I’ll be in there. The walls are thick enough and they have enough equipment running where I can’t hear them talking softly, but if there’s commotion, I’ll be there.”

The fabric of the mask shifts as Spider-Man smiles underneath it. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re feeding me to the sharks right now! First time teaming up, and I’m going into what would most assuredly be a warzone if I’m caught.”

The teasing tone in his voice quells any of Matt’s worries, and he replies, “You’ve got that extra sense, right? You’ll know if they see you before I can even hear your yell.” 

It isn’t until after the sentence leaves his mouth that he realizes his error. Spider-Man has never told him about his senses, and Matt isn’t sure if anyone else knows about them either. Matt just so happens to be the only one near him who can be completely attuned to someone else’s body. 

Spider-Man reacts to things before Matt can even hear them. In a fight, his body moves to dodge hits that don’t come until later—Spider-Man has some extra sense that lets him know what’s going to harm him, something Matt has thought about enough that he didn’t even consider thinking before talking about it. 

Tense beside him, Spider-Man finally opens his mouth. “How did you— you know what, never mind!” A false levity colors his tone, making Matt wince just the slightest amount. 

Making friends with his fellow vigilantes isn’t something he prioritizes. It isn’t even something he really likes , but Spider-Man, if Matt is right about him, may be the best of them all. He cares about the people and places around him, and he has a moral code that Matt sometimes thinks might be stricter than his own.

Spider-Man holds out a hand, Matt sensing it to be a clenched fist. He hesitates for a moment until Spider-Man’s heart rate increases just the slightest amount with anxiety, and then fistbumps. The relief Matt can feel from Spider-Man is almost laughable. 

“You know the plan?” Matt says, as a comfort to himself, that he’s explained everything correctly. He’s a lawyer; he knows how to put plans and thoughts into words, but he’s not worked with Spider-Man in such close proximity before, so it’s possible he’s not understood still. 

Spidey huffs a bit of air out of his nose in amusement, “No, I’ve forgotten everything we’ve said in the past thirty minutes. Could you write it down on my hand for me?” And then, after a beat, “Yes, Daredevil, I’ve got it. Go through vents, listen for details about the weapons trading, try to find names and times, etcetera.” 

Matt nodded, and they went their separate ways. Matt to a hiding spot close enough to the entrance where he could interfere at any point, and Spider-Man to the vent he’ll need to fit himself into. 

It’s close enough that Matt is able to hear the creak of his bones and joints when he fits himself. He’s going headfirst, the crazy man. Matt would’ve thought feet first so you could pull yourself up, but he guesses the other doesn’t have to think about that. Spider-Man could break out of any vent, could break out of almost anything he could think of, so it wasn’t a danger. The man can also hang upside down for days, probably. 

Only ten minutes pass before Matt hears gunshots. 

He listens for any goons outside, hears none, and makes his way to the entrance. None of the people inside are looking in the direction of the entrance, only focusing on Spider-Man as he systematically takes out each one of them. 

Amidst the chaos, Matt hears what caused Spider-Man to go against the plan and act. 

A group of fast, fluttering heartbeats. Scared children, tied up in the corner of the room. There hadn’t been any intelligence that suggested this group was in the human trafficking side of things, but Matt isn’t surprised, either. Even criminals like to… branch out on occasion. 

Luckily, Spider-Man was here for these kids. 

Matt silently runs in, taking out two of the goons before they even see him. Spider-Man is hanging the perps from the rafters, nestled in web cocoons that they have no chance of getting out of. There are only a couple dozen total, but a couple dozen people with guns is still a danger, especially with children involved. 

At that thought, one of the goons turns his head towards the children, and Matt immediately throws one end of his billy club to hit him on the back of his skull. In the same breath, Spider-Man webs the remaining two’s guns from their hands, rendering them pretty much powerless.

Matt quickly incapacitates them both, the sounds of their bodies hitting the ground the loudest thing in the warehouse. Spider-Man’s breaths are coming quick, his heart pounding harder than before. 

The scent of blood hits Matt’s nostrils the same time Spider-Man lowers himself to the ground. He was shot, the bullet grazing a rib and causing a small fracture. Spider-Man’s pain has never fazed Matt before, why does this wound feel different?

Matt walks over to the kids while still paying attention to Spider-Man. He can hear Spider-Man take off his webshooter, and affix some sort of bandage to the gunshot wound. It doesn’t sound like any bandage he’s heard before, but he forces his focus on the children. 

Spider-Man offers to take them outside, the scared children all smiling at the opportunity. Matt gets out of the way—he knows he’s much more threatening in a child’s eyes than Spider-Man is. The only thing that makes him think otherwise are the whispers of how uncanny-looking his mask is with the big eyes. Doesn’t matter to Matt, obviously, but he could understand why Spider-Man programmed his suit’s eyes to move with his own. 

After the police leave, and Spider-Man’s defenses come down, he rests off the ledge of a building. His breathing is still coming quick, but when the wind changes direction, and Spider-Man is suddenly downwind of Matt, his entire body seems to relax. The smell of blood is still strong even when hindered by whatever bandage was applied, and another pained whine escapes Spider-Man’s throat. 

Matt takes a step forward, but stops abruptly when Spider-Man raises his head and growls at him. 

Logically, Matt knows growling is something that happens, especially when someone who’s hurt is being approached. Instinctually, however, Matt’s in his own territory, Hell’s Kitchen, and he’s being growled at by someone strong enough to pose a danger. A growl escapes his own throat, and if it weren’t for the whine that next comes from Spider-Man, Matt may have attacked him. 

A high-pitched whine, something Matt has only ever heard from omegas in pre-heat. Matt focuses his hearing, listening to the blood running through his veins and the muscles contracting in his abdomen, no doubt causing the cramps that pre-heat was known for. 

Matt pauses, goosebumps rising on his flesh as he takes in this information. Even with the scent blocker Spider-Man got his hands on, Matt doesn’t think it will work in a full-blown heat. If unbonded, the job of an omega’s scent glands is to spread that scent, and even Spider-Man’s scent blockers would likely fail. 

“You’re going into heat, and you came on this mission anyway,” Matt deadpans, clenching his fists to contain his rage. He’s not mad at Spider-Man for coming, but more so for putting himself at such high risk. Spider-Man had done his job, and well, but he’d also put himself in the line of fire during one of two of his most vulnerable times of the year. 

Matt can feel Spider-Man’s whole body tensing, preparing for a fight. Matt’s head cocks at another question. 

Matt knows he smells strong, even to those without enhanced senses. He wears scent blockers in his daily life, but as Daredevil, the overwhelming scent of a territorial alpha works. The fact that Spider-Man’s body calms down when around him rather than rile up is interesting. His biology could act differently from other omegas, with his mutation and all.

Spider-Man huffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “With those senses of yours, you must know way too much about people.” 

Jaw clenching, Matt still finds himself looking for a scent that isn’t there. He’s glad to know his scent blockers are still working, but Spider-Man needs to get away, and wherever he goes to lick his wounds.

“Whatever blockers you use won’t hold up long. Go,” Matt's alpha recoils at the idea of an injured omega swinging through the streets alone, but Matt has full confidence that anyone who tried to hurt Spider-Man could very well get a car thrown at them. Spider-Man could take down most heroes in New York, but his alpha doesn’t know that. 

Spider-Man swallows loudly, and his body is wracked with another cramp. Matt almost winces in sympathy—ruts can cause cramps, too, but they aren’t nearly as bad as what Spider-Man is going through.

Only a few seconds later, Spider-Man gets up with a pained groan and swings home. 

The rooftop feels a lot colder, but Matt nods his head—this is better. Any number of things could’ve happened if Spider-Man’s scent blockers wore off, and none of them would’ve been good. Alphas can control themselves, the people who say otherwise are either rapists or making excuses for them, but it can be a lot . 

Matt’s mouth parts for just a moment as he realizes that Daredevil may be the only person in the vigilante world who knows Spider-Man is an omega. 

—

The moment Peter slides through his apartment window, he starts hyperventilating. On the swing back, he’d been able to keep his composure. The threat of not doing so was falling stories upon stories to his death, or running into an office building, or any number of things that could go wrong as he swings through the city. 

But at home? At home he can fall apart, and fall apart he does. 

He jumps onto his twin mattress, holding the blanket up tight to himself and biting down on it as he shakes. 

Daredevil, Peter’s true mate, told him to leave. Even though Peter knows logically that he’s not Daredevil’s omega—Daredevil has no idea they could mean anything more to each other—his body is reacting as though he’s been abandoned. The pre-heat hormones and the stress from the wound aren’t helping, either. 

Peter’s hand rests over the bullet wound on his side, covered in his natural webbing. With wounds like this, using his natural webbing as a bandaid was always the best way to go. He applies a little pressure, the pain making him clench his teeth, but also bringing him closer to the real world. The real world where Peter knows Daredevil didn’t reject him, because Peter never offered himself anyway. Peter is just a vigilante friend, a coworker. 

God, Daredevil is never going to invite Peter to anything again. 

The thought almost makes him want to sob again, so he presses against the gunshot once more. 

Peter takes a shaky breath and rolls out of bed, ignoring the pain in his side. Seeing as his heat is coming on faster than he thought, he wonders the next time he’ll be able to get the good night’s sleep required to heal it. Maybe it could be one of his rare wounds that lasted more than a week. Maybe this one will even scar— how cool would that be? 

In the corner of his apartment that he calls a kitchen, he opens the cabinets. 

There’s almost nothing. He hasn’t had time to do his regular grocery shopping, and honestly, he wasn’t even sure he could afford the food he needed for his heat. This is the first time he’s been in heat while also without a job, and he’s feeling it. 

Normally, he’d have protein bars, fruit smoothies, protein shakes—a lot of things with a lot of protein. You burn a lot of calories while trying to get yourself off in a state where you will never get off without the help of another person. Real Sisyphean shit. 

Tears prick the sides of his eyes as he looks at the two bags of chips taking up the small amount of space in his cabinet. He doesn’t even like chips that much. They were on sale , and looked like something to snack on after patrol when the taste of something doesn’t matter, only the feeling of something on your stomach. 

Now, they were the only food in his apartment, right before he’s about to have to hole up for a week. 

He’s probably too far gone to leave the apartment—shows how good his heat blocker was against the onslaught of scent from Daredevil—so calling MJ is the only course of action. Or, it would be, if he even had the money to pay her back. 

—

Even a week after the heat, Peter still isn’t feeling well. The lack of food and the pain of being away from his true mate is getting to him, and it was his worst heat ever.  

Impressive considering the first heat after being bit he tore his closet door off of its hinges. 

Eventually, MJ went to check on him and brought him a few snacks, but he’d gone the majority of his heat with no food besides those two terrible bags of chips, which he ate the first day. 

His wallet is still empty, though, and unless he can find a way to make a quick buck, his stomach won’t be full for a while. 

Which is why, not even three days after his heat, he’s in Hell’s Kitchen with his camera. MJ is definitely trying to set him up for something—seeing as she knows Daredevil lives here—but she doesn’t know who Daredevil is. What are the odds of seeing him in the few hours they’ll be in town? 

Peter stands all by his lonesome, waiting for Fisk’s case to be over so MJ can come back out. It’s one of many cases—there are too many crimes and too many trials against Fisk for Peter to keep up with. If Fisk gets out, then he’ll start paying attention again. 

The smell of unhappy omega was so strong he’d had to put on his regular, civilian-grade scent blockers, but his enhanced senses can still pick it up, making him curl his nose every so often whenever he gets a strong sniff. MJ said she couldn’t smell anything, but Peter had a hard time believing it. 

His finger brushes against the chrome shutter button, the metal cool against his fingertip. His camera has been a static presence in his backpack for years, and it’s a miracle it hasn’t broken yet. Selling pictures for a little bit of dough is one of the only ways for Peter to keep afloat at times, which is why MJ offered him this. 

Selling to Robbie at the Bulletin is always a winner, but having MJ connected to this meant he could get photos quicker and might even be able to make a bit more, since the Bugle usually compensated him quite well. After this, he’ll probably go on to take more photos of the city for Robbie, but MJ can get a payout quicker. 

Even with all his own justifications, a big part of him knows he chose this to get closer to Daredevil. He doesn’t want to meet Daredevil—just the thought fills his veins with ice—but it appeases his inner omega to know he’s close by. If he hadn’t agreed to help Daredevil and made a fool out of himself, he could’ve imagined meeting the other man. But as it stands, Peter knows he’s messed up any chance of being close with Daredevil. Hell’s Kitchen is the other man’s baby, and Peter could’ve put it in danger that night. 

Just at the thought, he feels and hears his own heart racing again. Thinking about it nearly makes him weep with embarrassment, and he’s been doing his best to repress those thoughts. It’s going poorly, but it’s going, and it’s something he’ll continue to do for the foreseeable future. 

MJ’s supposed to have an interview scheduled with one of the lawyers in the courtroom, but recordings aren’t allowed, and Peter doesn’t have the proper badge to enter. So, he waits outside for MJ to exit. He’s in the separate press room outside of the courtroom, where MJ will be able to talk to the lawyer in relative privacy. All Peter has to do is get a picture of MJ and the lawyer. The simplest job he could possibly take, and yet he’s fidgeting with nerves just by virtue of being in Hell’s Kitchen. He closes his eyes, leaning against the dark wood wall of the room. There are a few other people—other reporters waiting for their scoop—but it’s largely empty. To Peter’s knowledge, it takes contacts to get into a room like this on a high-profile case, and the Bugle has just enough pull to get MJ, and, by extension, Peter, in. 

Closing his eyes, he lets his head rest against the wood. Vibrations from across the whole building travel to him, painting him a picture of what’s going on in his head. Spiders know what’s near them based on vibrations from their webs, and Peter’s the same. His hearing is great—he can hear people talking in the lobby as clearly as he can his own heartbeat—but every step of every foot creates a vibration that travels to him. 

Before he knows it, the trial is over. Well, not completely over—there’s speculation Fisk’s trials will run for years —but what matters is that there are people leaving, and he can hear MJ making her way over to the press room. She has someone with her, someone that doesn’t ping Peter’s spidey sense as dangerous which is rare when it comes to people like lawyers. Lawyers and cops, they always shine red in his extra sense. 

He waits for the door to open before opening his eyes, and when he opens them, he’s taken aback by the sight. Next to MJ is perhaps the most beautiful lawyer Peter has ever seen, and most lawyers in New York are pretty. Something about people being more easily persuaded by those they find attractive. 

A smell, a familiar one, tickles his nose before his entire body seizes up. 

MJ and the mystery lawyer stop in front of him, and Peter, through the scent blockers the other wears, can smell the alarm that courses through the other man. 

The man in front of him in sunglasses, holding a cane, is Daredevil, Peter is sure of it. 

Peter stares unabashedly at the other man before MJ interrupts his thoughts. 

“Peter! This is Matt Murdock, the lawyer on Fisk’s case.” Surely there’s no way Daredevil—Matt, he corrects himself—knows he’s Spider-Man, right? Matt’s never gotten Peter’s real scent before now, and his suit covers his entire body. He knows his heartbeat is accelerating in his panic, knows the other can hear it, but hopes it’s attributed to nerves. Or even attraction! This is supposed to be his first time meeting his true mate, and all. 

Peter almost sticks his hand out for a handshake before realizing his error, and quickly says, “Nice to meet you.” He has to work to keep his voice from shaking. All of his avoidance and careful distance for the last year has been for naught, and now he’s going to be expected to keep company with Matt while he juggles vigilantism. While they both juggle it, actually. “I’m MJ’s photographer, just here to snap a few pictures of you both for the article.” 

Matt smiles, and wow, his smile is something else. Peter wonders why Matt doesn’t smile more as Daredevil—it would surely be a good distraction. “Hi, Peter. I believe we’ve actually met before.” As Peter’s insides turn to ice, Matt turns to MJ and smiles, “We have a mutual acquaintance.” 

MJ raises her eyebrow before looking between the both of them. She’s smart. She’ll probably figure this out, unless the idea of Matt being a blind man keeps her from doing so. It probably won’t—MJ can put together dots Peter didn’t know existed sometimes. 

Nonetheless, Peter is freaking out. Matt definitely knows he’s Spider-Man, and now knows they’re true mates. Unless it’s an unrequited bond? While that’s known to be one of the most painful things you can go through, Peter’s almost wishing this was the case. From the tenseness in the other’s shoulders, however, he doesn’t think that to be true. 

MJ starts the interview, but the only thing Peter can focus on is the alpha talking to her. His scent is obviously covered up with blockers and the most expensive soap and deodorant money can buy, but it still shines through. With how strong his scent is while patrolling, Peter expects nothing less. 

Peter’s own smell is rather weak compared to most, but the variations of his scent seem to attract attention. 

Bending over in his chair, he puts his head in his hands. He already smells of distressed omega—him holding himself like this is almost expected. He hopes. 

God, what if Matt doesn’t want Peter to patrol? There’s no way he could stop him, but the idea of arguing over his basic right to throw himself into danger—thank goodness MJ can’t hear his thoughts right now—makes him sick. 

Inhale through nose, exhale through mouth. 

That’s what all of those self-help youtube videos say, and he’s trying to make it work, but when he inhales, all he smells is Matt. 

After just getting through with his heat alone, his true mate's scent is positively alluring . 

Drunk on alpha pheromones, Peter almost doesn’t notice the interview’s end. As he stands, he has to clench his teeth against the lightheadedness that envelops him. Matt’s head shifts, as though he’s listening, and Peter finds himself wincing at the fact he even noticed . 

“So, Peter?” MJ says, smiling. When working on a good story, MJ’s smile can light up a room, and today is no different. 

Weakly smiling back, Peter gets to work. 

“I’m going to move you real quick so I can get the light at the right position, if that’s alright?” Peter asks, hesitating to put his hand on the other man. Besides the fact of him avoiding his true mate for a year and feeling awkward now, it’s just rude to touch someone without their consent. 

Matt nods, albeit stiffly. Peter tries to ignore the warmth of the other man’s shoulder under his hand, but doesn’t exactly succeed. 

After getting Matt into position, Peter takes a few pictures, then motions for MJ to move next to him. MJ doesn’t use many photos of herself in the articles, but she has a corkboard at home where she puts all of them. A little collage of her successes, even if the Bugle still doesn’t treat her exactly right. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got all I need!” Peter says, almost forgetting about the life-size elephant in the room with its trunk around his throat as he flips through the photos. 

MJ smiles wide, exchanging a few pleasantries with Matt before making to leave. Peter takes a step to follow, stopping when he hears, “Could I talk with Peter alone, please?” MJ opens her mouth to question, Matt continuing before she can get it out. “My partner was wanting to get some promotional photos taken of the firm for the paper.” 

With a small, conspiratorial smirk he says, “I also think he’s a bit of a sap and wants some photos for the office, but maybe I just don’t see the point of it.” 

MJ snorted before she could help herself, “Yeah, alright.” Her eyes brightened, “I’ll see if I can get some quotes from someone else!” and just like that, with no hesitations, she was off. 

Peter bites his lip, and he has the irrational thought of Daredevil being able to hear his thoughts before he shakes himself out of it. Swallowing audibly, he says, “So, were you guys thinking a team photo or—”

“Spider-Man,” Matt says, lower than anyone else in the room would be able to hear. 

Peter opens his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water before instinct kicks in. “Yeah, I used to take photos of him, but I don’t really do that anymore if that’s what you’re—”

Matt purses his lips before repeating, slower, “ Spider . Man .” 

Sighing, Peter says, “You just couldn’t let me have my emotional support denial, could you?” 

“Afraid not.” Matt replies, and the charm he showed MJ before all but melted away. He visibly ruminated on his words before eventually deciding on, “How are you?”

Such a mundane phrase wasn’t what Peter thought would follow MJ leaving, and his brain short circuits. 

Why isn’t he mad? An alpha kept away from his omega? Even at the thought of separation, Peter’s fangs itched to unsheathe.

At Peter’s continued silence, Matt elaborates, and if Peter didn’t know better, he’d think he was nervous. “Last time I saw you, you’d been shot and were hours away from heat.” 

Peter, body still feeling weak, looks away. There’s no doubt the other can hear the emptiness in his stomach, the swiftness of his heart which meant it was working on overtime without enough fuel. “It… Wasn’t supposed to start that early. I wouldn’t have jeopardized the mission like that.” He looks back at Matt, making eye contact even though he knows the other can’t see it, “I know what I’m doing, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and if in the future you need help again, I will.”

Matt’s head moves, and while his eyes obviously don’t look him up and down, Peter feels like he’s being scanned . His spidey sense is quiet, like it always is with Daredevil, but he gets the same tickling sensation at the base of his skull that tells him he’s being watched. 

Peter looks in the direction of the feeling, the source being a blond man walking up to both of them. 

Glancing back at Matt, he sees the other smile softly at the other man. Before he’s close enough to announce himself, Matt motions to the other man and introduces him, “This is Foggy Nelson, my partner in law upholding.”

Peter smirks before he can help himself. He doesn’t doubt the firm’s abilities, but he also knows nothing about them. If they were tasked with Fisk, though, they couldn’t be bad.  

“Foggy Nelson can introduce himself, thank you very much,” Foggy says, smile on his face and playfulness in his tone. He glances down at the camera hanging from his neck, dots connecting in his head. “Oh, you must be the photographer. Our secretary booked me with someone else,” Foggy shrugged, “something about ‘the more press, the merrier’ and all that. Maybe we’ll get some paying clients.” 

Foggy shoots a side-eye to Matt, and the familiarity of the gesture makes Peter’s chest tight. Seeing Matt have a family in his civilian life was bittersweet. Peter has a family: Miles and MJ, but spiders are loners by nature.

An incredibly social species paired with an incredibly antisocial one makes for interesting feelings regarding the idea of family. 

Matt’s charm is back on, but a little duller compared to how he’d been with MJ. “Well, I think fresh produce and the knowledge we’re doing good makes up for it.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile at that, replying, “You said that in such a way to purposely make yourself sound like an asshole, right? Because if not, I don’t think I can continue this conversation.” 

He shrugs, “It’s one of those things where I mean it, yet I know it sounds self righteous.” 

Foggy leans in conspiratorily, “Your assessment was right, run while you can.”

Foggy’s general demeanor and friendliness towards Peter helps the tendrils of anxiety crushing his ribcage to unwind. The beta’s scent is more neutral than most—a calming difference that helps put Peter at ease. Matt’s sense of smell must be even better than his own, so maybe someone as neutral as Foggy was a nice escape from the chaotic scents of everyday life. 

“You think I couldn’t catch him?” Matt says, and both Foggy and Peter look at each other: Foggy in disbelief, and Peter in alarm.  The idea of chasing omegas is a far outdated one, something still portrayed in period movies and written about in erotic fiction, but rather offensive to think about nowadays. 

“You sure you wanna say that, buddy? Maybe we should take a walk. Chill out for like, a couple of seconds.” Foggy rests his hand on Matt’s forearm.

Peter wonders what Foggy thinks about this moment, about Matt just about threatening to chase him, a random omegan photographer, “It’s fine,” Peter says, pushing down a nervous chuckle. “I know he didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Matt’s mouth turns into a frown for a moment before he seemed to understand. “Oh, I didn’t mean to reference… that.” Peter feels like Matt is a very charming man most days, but at this exact moment, he’s fumbling his words with awkwardness. “I wouldn’t mind asking you to lunch, even if I won’t chase you down for it.” Peter’s mouth goes dry, his instincts pushing him to accept—hell, his empty stomach begging him to accept. 

He hears MJ’s voice in the distance, though, and he’s thrust back into reality. 

He’s already putting enough people in danger. MJ and Miles being in danger is already too much , and after May dying, he’s not sure he can take anyone else close to him being hurt. Daredevil already has enough enemies. What if Spider-Man’s enemies caught on, too? There wouldn’t be any way to recover from that. 

Foggy’s rolling his eyes, probably expecting Matt to have a lunch date, but Peter surprises him. “Actually, MJ and I are gonna head back to Queens. It was nice meeting you both, though!”

As Peter walks away, he hears Foggy ask Matt, “Wow, when’s the last time you were turned down like that? Shit was cold-blooded.” 

A self-deprecating laugh leaves Matt, and before Peter can get out of earshot, he says, “Every time I’ve met him, apparently.”

When he approaches MJ, white as a sheet, she hurriedly stops what she’s doing and lets him drag her out. 

It isn’t until MJ and Peter are safe, back in Queens, that she makes him get lunch.

Chapter Text

“So, are you going to explain why you looked like you’d seen a ghost when we were in the courthouse? I get that the lawyer was hot, and you’re just getting off of a heat, but you’ve acted less scared in active hostage situations, Peter.” 

On his plate is a burger with everything on it, and a mound of fries. Peter doesn’t order as much as he’d like to—as much as he needs to—when someone else is paying. Even before being gifted with powers ala radioactive spider, he’d been able to eat you out of house and home. Now? He could eat everything in this diner. 

What he’s got won’t fill him up, but it’ll keep his stomach from eating itself, and might work to bring a little more color to his face. 

“It was just nerve-wracking, being in the Kitchen,” Peter says with a frown, purposely avoiding her gaze as he brings a fry to his mouth. 

Even without looking, he can tell MJ’s rolling her eyes at him. “Really? I’ve been in the Kitchen with you before. Yeah, you’re a bit jumpy, but not like this.” There’s a pause. Peter can almost hear the cogs turning in her head, and when he hears a sharp intake of breath, he knows he’s fucked. 

Her hand hits the table with her realization, and Peter looks up into the wide eyes of his best friend. In a frantic whisper, she says, “ Daredevil was there? ” 

Sighing, Peter nods his head. 

“Oh my god! Did you see him?” MJ asks, leaning over her food to get closer to Peter. “Or was he just nearby? I’ve heard he stinks, so,” MJ shrugs, and Peter barks out a laugh. 

“ Stinks? That makes him sound disgusting,” Peter’s little smile falls to a more neutral position. “He’s just got a strong smell, is all. He must have been wearing scent blockers—it wasn’t anything like how he smells when he patrols.” 

MJ hums in response, eyes flitting around with her thoughts as she goes through all of the people she came into contact with. Peter’s shoulders slump as he inhales more and more of his fries. It’s only a matter of time—this was the girl that figured out he was Spider-Man only a few months into Spider-Man existing. 

“... Did Murdock know who you were?” MJ’s voice comes out, filled with uncertainty, but her eyes are glued to Peter for his reaction. Peter doesn’t know what face he makes, but whatever it is, it makes MJ’s eyes widen. She hits the table again, no doubt drawing the attention of some of the other patrons. “ HIM?!” 

Peter shushes her, looking around at everyone else nearby. There are some openly staring, and some looking at them from the corners of their eyes. MJ rolls her eyes, tilting her face away from everyone else as she asks, “Is he faking the… you know?”

Peter scoffs, his hand coming to cover his mouth from prying eyes as he speaks. “That’d be an impressive fake. I think he’s actually blind, but his other senses are like, crazy heightened. He recognized me immediately.” 

MJ nods slowly, and begins eating her food. 

The further lack of conversation isn’t a good omen—MJ almost always has something to say, especially when it comes to something as important as the whole “true mates” question. The other omega had yet to meet her true mate, but it was something that’d always interested her, so when Peter first told her about his dilemma, she’d pushed him to confront his other half. 

It didn’t work, but even so, the world had pushed them together itself. MJ had a bit of a hand, with her inviting him to Hell’s Kitchen and all, but she didn’t have the ability to bring Daredevil to him. 

MJ is formulating a plan herself; Peter can almost smell it. 

Peter inhales the rest of his food, looking at MJ when he’s on his last bite of burger. “Please, don’t contact him. He already gave me his number, I don’t need you barging in.”

Her lips purse, eyebrows raising in annoyance, but she continues eating anyways. It isn’t the silent treatment, per se, since the silence is for an actual purpose besides getting at Peter, but that’s what it feels like nonetheless. 

MJ finishes her meal, wiping her mouth before asking, “What would Miles think?”

Eyebrows furrowing, Peter says, “What do you mean?” 

“Teaching him to run away from everything that makes him even a little uncomfortable? Not exactly the best thing a mentor can do.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

“But it’s a part of it,” MJ states, tone leaving no room for argument. “What is so bad about letting yourself be happy?” 

Peter frowns harder than he was before. The urge to leave fills him, but he can’t leave, not when MJ just paid for his meal. He has to listen to her, or at least sit and pretend to. No matter how much it makes him grind his teeth. 

Peter looks anywhere but her, playing with his hands underneath the table. There isn’t anything wrong with him being happy, he’s plenty happy. He has two friends who love him, he has a fulfilling night time career, and that’s about it. There are other people who’re happy with much less—it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have a job. That he doesn’t have a mate. That he’ll always be living a double life, not knowing if the man in the mask is him or the man outside of it. 

After a few beats of silence where it was made evident that Peter wouldn’t answer the question, MJ moves to get up. 

Peter catches her wrist, looking up at her through his eyelashes, “I have you and Miles; that’s all I need.”

MJ smiles sadly, taking her wrist from Peter and putting her hands on his cheeks. She looks directly into his eyes, making Peter feel like he was under a microscope. “You could have so much more.” 

She gives him a kiss on the forehead before leaving him to sit at the booth, alone. 

Well, nothing new. 

— 

The problem with avoiding someone you, technically , work with is that you have to see them at least occasionally. And, in Peter’s case, it can sometimes mean working very closely with them. 

Sure, he doesn’t have to see Daredevil as much as he would if they worked together at their day jobs, but at a regular day job, you aren’t having to pick them up and carry them to safety in your arms. At least, not in theirs. Unless there were some parts of lawyerhood that Peter wasn’t aware of, which could be possible, but probably not. 

Daredevil called Peter, fighting and shouting going on in the background, and Peter was out, swinging as fast as he could to Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil didn’t even have to say anything, Peter had just said, “Give me ten,” and he’d been jumping out of his apartment window. It was in dire situations like these that he was really thankful for how fast he could go with his webs. Getting there in ten had proven difficult, almost breaking several windows with the force of his swings, but he’d made it with little property damage. 

The robots came back, but slightly stronger. Peter’s strength can outmatch most things when he lets it out, and these are no exception, but for these robots? 

When critically damaged, they explode. Hard enough to slam Peter through a brick wall. 

The only reason Daredevil— Matt— hasn’t been blown to pieces is how he’s handling them, and Peter isn’t sure if it’s his enhanced senses that told him how to deal with the robots or just good luck, but he’s glad for it either way. The way Daredevil has been dealing with these so far is by systematically taking out the limbs of the bot— something that doesn’t seem to activate the self destruct. 

If Peter hadn’t flown into the fray without analyzing the situation as he did, he likely would’ve realized what Daredevil was doing was right, but he’s still distracted. Now, in a pile of bricks and debris, he’s rethinking most choices that’ve led him here. 

Daredevil’s still going as he has been, but Peter’s spidey sense marks him as moving a lot faster than before, jumping away from enemies as quickly as he strikes, which tells Peter that he hasn’t gotten one of them to explode yet. If he had, he wouldn’t have changed his tune so drastically. Could be luck, or it could be the common sense of not purposefully fucking with unknown technology without knowing what could come of it. 

The mask keeps the big particles from entering his mouth, but the dust from the rubble still manages to make it under and coat his tongue. He grimaces before leaping out of the pile of bricks, wishing for a nice, room-temperature glass of water, although he knows it will be a good moment before he gets one. 

Bricks, mortar, and whatever else they put in pre-war buildings to keep it standing. He’s hoping no asbestos or lead or whatever else has gotten under his mask, but he hasn’t yet figured out if his spidey sense can detect those things. He could test it by attempting to eat paint chips around New York, but for whatever reason, that isn’t on his radar of important tasks. 

Standing up, he doesn’t even have time to blink the dust out of his eyes before his spidey sense tells him to move. 

A projectile—a dagger—flies past where his head used to be as he propels himself into the air, preemptively shooting webs in whatever direction his senses tell him to. Daredevil is in the corner of his mind, as he always is, but he’s holding his own in a way Peter wasn’t sure other people can. It could be his growing infatuation with the other man leading him to think that, but he isn’t going to analyze that any further. 

While Peter definitely knows other people who can fight, he can recognize the elegance with which Daredevil maneuvers around a battlefield. It was obvious he was professionally trained, floating between dozens of martial art styles as easily as breathing. 

Peter, while well-disciplined and highly effective, is self-taught in most things. He’s been told by other vigilantes that it’s not a bad thing, that it can actually help in being unpredictable while fighting, so it’s not anything he’s too self-conscious about. Most martial arts classes for omegas are strictly self-defense based, for obvious reasons, and Peter is just a bit too strong to join anything led by humans. 

Now, if there was a martial arts class for mutants and mutates? Maybe he’d give them a ring. 

During a fight, the rest of the city fades away—a sort of hyperfocus Peter is glad for. The only sounds registering in his ears right now are the grunts of his partner, the ripping and tearing of metal, and the whirring of machinery. 

The fight goes on, Peter flipping around the battlefield and, for once, glad Miles hadn’t been here at the start. No telling how the robots would’ve reacted to his electricity—it could’ve been Miles slammed through the wall and not Peter. 

He disables as many of the robots’ limbs as he can, either by gumming the joints up with webbing or using other projectiles. Remember the bricks from the wall he destroyed? They’re the perfect size and density to break the mechanisms of the legs. They’re getting put to work even harder than Peter is. 

It’s not lost on Peter that the original reason Daredevil invited him to help out more in Hell’s Kitchen was that he doesn’t destroy everything around him, and he began this fight by getting blown into the side of what looks like a pretty old building in the heart of Daredevil’s little neighborhood, and is continuing to use its crumbled remains to take these robots out. 

But now he has weapons that aren’t his fists or his limited web supply, the web supply that’s reminding him of its limitations right at this moment, as the right one makes a dull hiss, signaling it’s run out. 

Peter really needs to implement some sort of warning system into his shooters so they don’t run out in midair all the time, but he’s got enough stuff to do. In his hurry to leave the apartment, he hadn’t packed any extra webbing with him. And with all of his personal issues, he hadn’t thought to refill his current cartridges after his last patrol. 

So, simply put, you could say it was all Daredevil’s fault. 

Now, Peter’s moves are less graceful. While in midair, he taps on his left webshooter to see if he can hear how much is left, and the reverberation of mostly empty space on the inside tells him all he needs to know. He rips the right webshooter off, showing the little pucker of skin that reveals his spinnerets. Using his organic webbing too much will hurt and drain him, but it’ll hurt less than falling victim to the robots, or, just falling. 

Using his spinnerets always feels like such a relief at first, a noticeable release of pent-up pressure that usually leaves him sighing if he’s in the comfort of his own home. After a few minutes of fighting and trying his hardest not to use up his left webshooter, he starts to feel the stinging. The opening gets irritated with prolonged use—simply put, if you use it for more time than it would take to build a simple, human-sized web, it doesn’t like it. 

They’re on the last two robots when one manages to get a hit on Daredevil, the sharp points of its hand making contact with the other man’s side. It’s the same side Daredevil injured during the last robot battle, a fact that has Peter’s fangs unsheathing without his control. Before he can think, he shoots the last of his left webshooter’s web at the robot in question, attaching himself to the closest wall and pulling. He held back, like he always does—if he pulled as hard as he could, things would go flying, and he doesn’t feel like fetching a five-hundred-pound robot from the other side of Manhattan, no thank you. 

It flies towards him, and once it reaches him, he holds both of its hands. He ignores the sharpened fingers cutting through his suit, down to his skin, and pulls hard in either direction. The arms rip from the body of the bot with a sickening creak. Peter throws the arms in either direction, pulls his webshooter off, and catches the robot with the organic webbing of his left hand right before it reaches the ground. 

Hopping down from his perch, he makes quick work of the legs before webbing the rest of the robot down. Its sad form mirrors that of most of the others. There were only a few with any limbs left, and those that have any only have one. Cursed to turn in circles on the pavement for eternity until someone cleans them up. 

The other robot, the only one remaining, is at Daredevil’s feet. In the few seconds it’d taken Peter to disable the one who hit Daredevil, he’d already taken down the last one. Peter pushes down the warm feeling rising in his chest. 

“Dee?” 

Daredevil’s head moves slightly, listening to something. “The Avengers are on their way,” he says, the words coming out impressively calm for someone holding a dirty glove to an open wound in their side. He moves to leave, Peter following him quicker than he can retreat. 

“Hey,” Peter catches up to him, “You have someone to help you with that?”

Matt continues moving, though slower than before. Maybe the blood loss is getting to him, or he realizes he can’t outrun Peter even without his normal webshooters. When was he going to ask about those? There’s no way he hasn’t noticed. “Yes,” he says, as much of a statement as it is a dismissal. Peter frowns underneath his mask before grabbing Daredevil’s arm to stop him. 

“How far away are they?” 

His frown deepens, telling Peter all he needs to know. “Look, I can help out a little bit, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” His head turns sharply, looking in the direction of Iron Man’s jets. He’s still far, but it won’t take long. “Let’s move a little bit.” 

With every step, Peter can feel himself wincing. His fangs aren’t out anymore, as if they can recognize they’re out of the fight that put their mate in this position. The smell of Daredevil’s blood is getting to him, though, as well as the pained gasps that leave him. He’s good at concealing them, but Peter’s paying too much attention to miss anything. 

After a year of running, being alone with a vulnerable Daredevil is almost too much . The emotional intimacy of it is enough to make Peter nauseous—or are those the damaged ribs? 

It feels like exactly what he needs, though. 

Shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts, he leads them far enough away that Peter can guess they won’t be found by the Avengers immediately. “Okay, now you have to promise not to freak out.” 

Even though he can’t see Daredevil’s full face, he can see the way his lips turn down in apprehension. If he had to bet, he’d say there was a furrow between his brows as well. 

A few seconds pass without Daredevil responding, and Peter figures that’s the best he’s going to get. 

“Show me the wound,” Peter says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Daredevil complies, moving his head to presumably listen to what the Avengers are up to. 

Leaving the cleanup for the Avengers isn’t something Peter likes to do, even though it’s been happening more and more as of recent. The more time spent with the Avengers, the easier it would be to find him out. He’s been doing this for eight years, almost nine at this point, but the idea of his identity being let loose is terrifying. 

The city’s already faced such hardships because of him, and he doesn’t want to think of what could happen to MJ or Miles if his identity was found out. 

Peter takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth. Daredevil’s smell—even when tainted with blood—is a calming force. 

Those meditation apps he turned on once every three months would be proud of him. 

Glancing at both of his spinnerets, it’s made apparent he overused his right one this fight. The skin around the opening is raw and red, and there’s a bruise forming underneath the skin. His right forearm will be black and blue for a few hours, or as long as it takes for him to get a good night’s rest. 

He gently, but firmly, grasps Daredevil’s wrist with his right hand, pulling it away from the wound for a moment. The suit around the wound is already torn most of the way off, revealing pale, scarred skin underneath. The wound is too jagged for any type of stitching, so what he’s about to do is going to be perfect for it. 

He could warn him, could say everything he needed to, but he figures this might be a situation where asking for forgiveness is better than permission. 

He raises his left hand, spraying webbing up and down the wound. 

Daredevil purses his lips, suspiciously still for a few moments after. 

“ What ,” Daredevil finally responds, “was that? ” 

Chapter Text

 Matt’s heart is still pounding as he takes in what was just applied to his skin. It feels silky, and before he even opens his mouth he knows it’s spiderweb. Strong, inordinately thick spider web, but spider web nonetheless. He’s barely ever touched it, always sensing it before running into it in his daily life. 

It’s… soft. 

“Oh, yeah- sorry for just kinda spraying you with it without… much warning, I forget it can freak people out.” Peter says amused.

 “This stuff,” he continues with a little flourish, “is 99.9% pure, New York raised, non-gmo, antibiotic free, cage free, only slightly genetically modified, spider silk.”

“GMO stands for genetically modified. It can't be non-gmo and genetically modified,” Matt deadpans, the explanation entertaining him nonetheless. 

“Yeah, that's what I keep telling my aunt, but she still gets her eggs at Trader Joe's. Either way; spider silk has been used for bandages since the bronze age, it's loaded with antifungal and antibacterial junk, and it plays extra nice with the human body—probably since it's made in-house.” As he talks he taps the stuff with bare fingers, helping it set into something resembling an extra iridescent bandage.

Matt holds back a smile when he says, “Wish you wouldn't say it like that, like the human body is a factory.”

“That's the least gross way of saying it, trust me. Good news is because this stuff is basically all protein it'll help it heal nice and pretty- I’d have a lot more scars if I didn't use this stuff for everything deeper than a paper cut.” Matt’s not a telepath, but he can feel the way Spider-Man’s muscles relax a little during the explanation. Matt’s heard that Spider-Man talks too much—it would make sense if talking calmed him down as well. 

“Once this stuff dries it'll start to flake off like a scab. Once it comes off, you can hit me up again for another hit if you want, that way once it heals up it'll look less like a robot attack and more like a run-in with a really dedicated squirrel.”

Spider-Man waits for Matt to say something, and when it becomes evident the man is lost in thought, he moves to leave.

“You’re not going to swing on those, are you?”

Spider-Man turns back, tilting his head in confusion, like the question would make more sense at a 45 degree angle. “On what? My webs? They’re fine for the journey back.” 

He can’t help his deadpan tone when he retorts, “On the three broken ribs you’re nursing. You’re lucky your lung hasn’t been punctured yet.” 

Matt wonders if Spider-Man is frowning under his mask when he asks, “And how do you know that?”

Matt scoffs. “I can hear it, idiot. C’mon. We’ll get back to my place and I’ll call my nurse over to look at it.”

Where Spider-Man’s heart had calmed down before, now it picked back up again before shaking his head vigorously. “No, a good night’s sleep usually fixes it for me.”

Matt trains his head in Spider-Man’s direction, knowing just the action would make the other man more nervous. It’s not like it helps him see Spider-Man any better—Matt’s senses work in any direction, and he would bet Spider-Man knows that—but it still adds a certain amount of pressure to the sighted people around him. 

Spider-Man shakes his head slightly, a small enough motion that Matt’s almost doubting whether or not he really sensed it. 

“If you get to do your little spider web bandage on me, I get to make sure your ribs heal before you go swinging across town,” Matt can’t help his voice getting lower, but he keeps himself from pushing out more of his scent. He doesn’t think Spider-Man would take too well to him trying to use his biology against him. 

Is that why he’s hidden all this time? 

Matt bites his tongue to keep his question internal. Having Spider-Man in front of him, after knowing what he knows, feels too good to be true, like the other could leave at any time. 

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He could. Their pairing isn’t one people write about, isn’t the ones from all the Hallmark movies. Spider-Man— Peter , he knows, but he doesn’t dare think it—could break him in half in seconds. Matt isn’t foolish; he can feel how much the other holds back with every punch he throws. Muscles and bones and joints sound a certain way when they’re being used to their fullest, and Matt has never heard that sound from Spider-Man. 

They wouldn’t be the stereotypical alpha and omega couple, and something about that makes Matt want him more. 

Spider-Man laughs at Matt, the laugh strong if not a little pained. “You should see what I’ve done with a busted shin.”

Matt, the human without a healing factor, is probably the worst person to judge somebody for not taking care of themselves, but the moment he hears that, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with hidden anger. 

“What?”

It’s as though the increased alpha pheromones in the air calm him down, the muscles in his body going slack. There’s a pause, like he’s not sure what to make of it. “Alright, alright,” He concedes after a moment, not putting up much of an argument at all anymore. 

Matt doesn’t comment on the noticeable change of heart from the other hero, and instead just says, “C’mon, it’s not too far from here.”

Spider-Man looks around, no doubt surveying the scene before following Matt. 

Hell’s Kitchen is his, but he’s aware it isn’t the largest place, and it takes less than ten minutes to get to his apartment undetected. The moment they climb in, Spider-Man’s body goes tense, those too-strong muscles clenching in ways that Matt can only imagine are painful.

He knows what the other man is seeing: a barely furnished apartment with no decorations. It’s nothing he’s self conscious about, but the comments of it looking like a serial killer’s house are hard to forget. It’s a very spacious apartment, especially for the price, but that’s caused by the huge screen on the outside of the windows, illuminating the space with every advertisement that runs across it. 

The apartment is an open floor plan, with the kitchen looking in on the living room and the bedroom lacking a door. There’s a track on the wall from where a barn door used to be, but Foggy and Matt had taken that down within the first week of him living here. 

Should he offer him food, or would he see that as courting? Coffee? It’s still daytime. He can do that. 

“I can make you—or, us, coffee.”

For someone who has a reputation of being smooth, he certainly feels like he’s flailing. It’s not that he’s even trying to flirt, either. He has an interest in the other man, but that was there before he knew of their… situation. 

That’s the best way to describe it, probably. 

Spider-Man stands stock still for a few moments, and it’s then that Matt remembers how overwhelming his scent must be to the other man. He goes to apologize before he stops himself—there’s no good way to do this, no good way to introduce Spider-Man into his life, not until the other man opens up. The most he can do is talk like a normal person, treat him like a normal person.

Let Spider-Man know he’ll be treated with respect as long as he’s around Matt. 

He will say, he’s glad the universe picked another vigilante to pair him up with. Getting paired with someone that didn’t know where his scars came from wouldn’t have worked. Or, it would’ve, but not for long. 

Of all the vigilantes, Matt can say he thinks he got the best one. A thought that does more to scare him than to comfort him. Of course, he doesn’t know if Spider-Man will ever let him close enough to even try anything, to try to make a relationship work. Does he want that? 

There was a time when he would’ve said no, not at all, and that time was pretty recently. Really, any time before he met Peter and realized his true mate was more similar to him than he could’ve ever guessed. His true mate could tear buildings from their foundations and rip people apart, leaving nothing to be seen. 

Spider-Man has always been someone Matt almost looked up to. Not wholly, because there were some things Matt thought worked better when your moral code wasn’t as rigid as Spider-Man’s, but then again—there are niches for each hero. 

After confirming Spider-Man does indeed want coffee, Matt gets to work. He takes out his coffee, grinder, and readies the traditional coffee maker on the counter. 

Spider-Man clears his throat, “Big time lawyer like you, I would’ve expected Keurig coffee.” After a moment’s hesitation, he sits down on the orange chair by the window. Close enough to it that he could escape before Matt blinked if he needed, and close enough to the radiators to still feel their warmth. It wasn’t that cold outside, but in the few times Matt has worked with Spider-Man in the winter time, it didn’t take super senses to notice him react slower, more lethargically. 

Matt let himself smile before taking off his helmet and setting it on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living space. He runs his fingers through his hair quickly, more of a nervous habit than actually trying to look nice, and says, “Keurig pods use some preservative to keep the coffee fresh that tastes like metal to me. I know it’s good coffee, everyone says it is, but I just can’t get past that taste.”

Spider-Man hums curiously, “Can you smell it as well? The differences between them?”

It’s a casual question, but Spider-Man is incredibly intelligent, and any answer would also be helping him build a profile for him in his head. A scale on how strong he was, how his senses compared to his own. Matt rarely feels it, but with Spider-Man, there’s this need to impress. 

Biting down on that urge, he only replies with an affirmative. He listens to the heating elements in the coffee pot, the flow of water through it, and uses that to keep his senses away from the omega in his living room. 

There are differing opinions about Spider-Man in the news as well as in the hero world. When the Avengers or anyone else is in Hell’s Kitchen during Matt’s patrol, he picks up what they talk about. Spider-Man is loud, he’s obnoxious. He talks when he shouldn’t and he lashes out at the slightest hint that someone knows his identity. Even throughout all of the mayhem in New York last year, he didn’t ask for help. 

Last year, when Daredevil walked up on Spider-Man and met him for the first time. 

Matt grinds his teeth, immediately stopping when the squeaking becomes too much for his ears. 

He focuses on the coffee machine, that’s his method of escape right now. When the coffee is done, he’ll turn his attention towards Spider-Man, towards the omega in his living room with broken ribs, who didn’t ask anyone for help even when the world was crumbling around him. 

Unfortunately, traditional coffee pots aren’t the quickest things in the world, and Matt’s thinking there’s a 50/50 shot of Peter running away before the pot is finished. The thought of him swinging away on his broken ribs is enough to have Matt on edge. 

He clenches his fist, expelling some of the nervous energy running through his veins, then forces himself to relax. 

Right now would be a great time for meditation, but asking the Spider on his chair to meditate sounds like a bad idea.

“So, Spider-Man,” Matt starts, realizing after that word that he has no idea what’s coming next. He walks around the island in the kitchen, his finger tracing the edge of the counter out of habit, even though he doesn’t need to touch it to see it. “Tell me about the time with the busted shin.”

That seems to surprise Spider-Man, the man letting out a startled shout of a laugh before saying, “Really? The mention of it had you nearly tearing my head off. You sure you invited me over just to heal? Sure you didn’t wanna reopen those wounds?” The words have a mocking lilt, and Matt allows himself to fully focus on him. 

The beat of his heart is the least of what he listens to—he listens to the movement of muscles, muscles that are way too strong for the frame they’re on. He listens to the fluid in his joints, making every movement sound as smooth as a marble countertop. 

Matt’s felt attraction before, but he’s starting to really believe this whole “true mate” thing. 

His bones creak with the sound of healed injuries, and just the general feeling of being overworked, but all vigilantes sound like that. Matt, if he couldn’t tune out his own body, would drive himself mad with his poorly set breaks and overstretched joints. 

“I figured it was something to talk about. It’s one of the only things I know about you, besides the fact I’m pretty sure you started working as Spider-Man in high school, right? You’ve been doing this longer than me, pretty sure.” 

“I’ve been doing this longer than most people, which I think would make me an elder, right? How come no one asks me for advice—”

“Besides Deadpool.”

Spider-Man barks out a laugh before agreeing, “Besides Deadpool, yeah. How come no one besides Deadpool asks me for advice on how to do the whole ‘heroing’ thing? I mean, I’m glad that guy’s turning a new leaf and what-not, but does no one else want to talk to me? Is it the eyes? The big creepy bug-eyes?”

“Well, they don’t bother me at all.”

“Thank yo—hey, wait a minute.”

Matt can’t help a low chuckle escape him. “I mean, they don’t. I can hear the mechanics of the eye movement, but that’s background noise.” Matt tilts his head in Spider-Man’s direction, leaning against the counter, “Did you make the eyes move because of the… big creepy bug-eyes?”

Spider-Man shrugs, hesitating a moment before taking his mask off. Whatever scent blockers he has on must work incredibly well, because even without the cloth barrier—that is also definitely soaked in whatever blocker he uses—Matt can’t smell him. Matt’s brain tingles with questions. He’s never met a scent blocker he can’t smell through, and the curiosity eats at him. 

Spider-Man finally continues, messing with the inside of his mask as he talks, “The ‘uncanny valley’ thing. I don’t think it exactly applies to me, my mask, because it doesn’t look human, but people react to it like it’s wrong. And that works! A lot of the time it’s great when the criminal I’m trying to get information from nearly pisses their pants when I do a pose and look at them with this mask, but it doesn’t help when a kid I’m trying to coax out of a dangerous situation is doing the same.” There’s a few clicks as he powers down the small chip connected to the eyes of the mask. “The eye movement does something , in that a kid can see actual movement, like it’s a face.”

“Like one of their cartoons.”

Spider-Man nearly jumps out of his seat, pulling himself back at the last second, “Yes! Like their cartoons. That’s how I make myself more personable.”

The coffee pot finishes, Matt hearing the cooling of the heating elements seconds before the machine actually beeps. He rounds the counter, quickly pulling two mugs from the cabinet and setting them lightly on the counter. 

Matt keeps himself relaxed—or, at least appearing relaxed—while Spider-Man gets up and follows him. He keeps his distance, something Matt is thankful for, but he’s away from the easy escape of his window. 

Matt doesn’t doubt Spider-Man could find his way out of the apartment before he could react anyway, but the thought sits with him still. 

“And Matt? I know you know my name. No one’s watching. You can call me Peter here.” 

Something in Matt calms down at that statement. Spider-Man— Peter —is comfortable here. He’s without his mask, without webshooters, and he’s asking him to call him by his name. 

The forbidden question sits on his tongue, one he thinks he may be able to answer himself. But Peter is in his home, allowing him to make coffee for him, and he doesn’t want to push him away, no matter how hard the question burrows itself into his thoughts. At least, he won’t push him away now.  

“Milk or sugar?” 

Peter’s lips move to form a grin, “What? Too good for proper cream? Or can you taste the centrifuges the cream comes out of?” 

Matt raises his own black coffee to his face, not taking a sip, but just giving the cup a good sniff. He smiles behind the mug, ignoring how Peter’s heart rate raises when he does so, and says, “If you ever go through law school, you’ll train yourself out of needing anything in your coffee.”

“Too busy?”

“Too lazy. Outside of studying and tests you don’t want to do anything. Maybe it’s a little bit of punishment, too.”

“Self-flagellation by unaltered coffee? Much better than my own.”

Matt raises an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t call them punishments? I’m not choosing to be unemployed. It’s just hard when you have a laundry-list of terminations and no-call no-shows. The day my camera breaks is the day I lose my apartment.”

The coffee’s still too hot to drink, but Matt lets the liquid touch his bottom lip. He’s an impatient person, most of the time, and that also applies to how long he waits for a hot beverage or food. Peter does the same, running his tongue along his lower lip after and grimacing. 

“Don’t like the coffee?” Matt asks, lowering the cup once more. 

Peter sighs. “I think I would—let me get some of that milk you mentioned. Any sugar?” 

“What household doesn’t have sugar?” Matt doesn’t have to be able to see to sense the glare sent his way, and it takes a bit more strength than he thought to hold his laughter back. 

“So that’s what we’re doing? Picking on the poor photographer now?” Peter says, pouring a small amount of milk into his coffee before searching for the sugar. Matt could help, but it’s more fun to watch. “I’ll have you know, I haven’t bought sugar or flour or anything like that in… quite awhile actually.” His mood takes an obvious dip. Matt’s heard that tone in his own voice before, when he’s done the mistaking of talking himself into a memory. 

There are times when it’s better to ask, and times when it’s better to stay quiet, wait for the other to continue, and Matt figures it’s one of those times. 

If Matt could actually hear people thinking, he was sure he’d be deafened by now. Peter’s heart and breathing accelerated, then calmed down, than accelerated—like he was freaking himself out with his trains of thought, realizing what he was doing and trying to calm himself down, then freaking himself out again. It’s interesting, listening to the actual war within somebody. 

Matt has to hand it to him. He could run. Matt couldn’t stop him. He could run and put this conversation, and whatever Peter is thinking of, behind him. 

But he’s not. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking off the lid to the sugar holder. He scoops three scoops into his coffee, and Matt quietly opens the silverware drawer, handing him a small spoon to stir with. 

Matt can guess what he’s referring to, but he wants to hear him say it. “About?” 

Peter huffs a breath of air out of his nose in frustration. 

Matt almost drops his cup when he realizes he can just barely smell him through the scent blockers. Whatever he put on must have worn off slightly, and with no mask, he didn’t have any further cover. 

Matt’s smelled him before—that day at the courthouse—but he didn’t have a lot of time to really absorb it. And at that point, his smell had been soured with unhappy, hungry omega. 

He’s still hungry, Matt had picked that up the moment he was close to him, but not nearly as bad as before. He doesn’t smell happy, per se, but he doesn’t smell miserable. 

There are waves within his scent, like all the different dynamics are fighting within him. Most people have differences in their scent based on mood, health, etc., but Peter’s scent was like a deep wine that changed the longer you paid attention to it. 

His scent is that of an omega that can protect himself, that can rip an alpha apart without thinking, and even the idea of that is exciting.  

“You know what-” Peter cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and continues in a lower voice, “you know what I’m talking about.”

The spoon hits the sides of the mug twenty-two times as he stirs, Matt counting the taps so he can put his mind on anything else but the omega in front of him.

“The plague that Dr. Octavius unleashed—It took my Aunt May. She died only a week or so before we first met.” Peter takes a long swig of his coffee, making a pleased noise at the taste. “She was the only part of my family I had left. My parents were gone, my Uncle Ben—It was just me and her.”

Peter shifts, turning around to look right at Matt as he leans against the counter. He’s forgotten to put the lid back on the sugar, but Matt isn’t going to comment. “So, the last time I bought flour and sugar and actual ingredients for things was when she last made wheatcakes.” His voice is dangerously close to cracking, but he’s hiding it well. If only Matt couldn’t hear it. “Though, the wheatcakes don’t actually have sugar? It’s molasses that sweetens it. But she needed it for other things—like when she made birthday cakes and other little treats for the people at F.E.A.S.T.” 

Matt lets the statement rest, waiting to see if anything follows, but Peter continues sipping his coffee. 

“My dad was my only family. Lost him a few months after I went blind.” Matt answers the other’s question before he can ask, “I was blinded in a car accident. Truck overturned and unknown, hazardous chemicals got into my eyes. If my dad had known better, he would’ve sued the truck company for not having their barrels properly secured and having a driver who wasn’t paying attention.”

Peter hums. Tilting his head back and forth in thought—and anxiety, Matt notes—and says, “Yeah, but he wasn’t thinking about that when looking at his newly blinded kid. Not saying he shouldn’t have, but people tend to overlook things, y’know?”

Matt nods, before taking his first real sip of his coffee. It’s quiet for a while, the only thing accompanying Matt being the sound of both of their heartbeats. He wonders if anyone has seen Peter quiet this long, if his excessive—sometimes annoying —talking is something that he just does in fights, or if it follows him throughout his daily life. 

Peter stops drinking his coffee abruptly, his pulse spiking as he sets the coffee down. 

Before Matt can ask why, Peter’s going towards the newspaper clipping on the counter. 

It’s a special one, the last newspaper clipping of his father, but he usually knows when someone’s coming over and when to put it up. It has a home in the one empty drawer in his apartment, kept away from anything that could make it deteriorate quicker than it was. 

“Your dad… I don’t know how I didn't put it together sooner,” Peter says, a certain wonder in his voice. “Battlin’ Jack Murdock, boxer from Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Matt works his jaw, trying to come up with an answer that didn’t sound like ‘ Please get away from the last photo I have of my father.’ 

He can’t see it, and at this point can barely feel the texture differences in between the text and the paper, but he knows it’s there. He had the nuns read it to him. Had to hide the paper from Stick, thinking the man would throw it in the garbage—he would’ve—and kept it on his person from the time his dad died until now. 

“Ben Parker, the photographer? That’s my uncle! Was, my uncle, that is.”

Matt’s lips part, the discomfort trickling away and turning into… something he can’t name. “So…”

“I have this clipping framed, Matt!” Peter exclaims, “And you have it on your counter, and the edges are all torn and I can see that this means a lot to you, and this was the picture Uncle Ben was most proud of. That’s why I have it. He didn’t know your dad, didn’t say much when I asked about him, but he caught a lot of his games. Something about how you could tell he was skilled and somehow always came out under the next guy, like he was getting paid off.”

“He was.” Matt works his jaw a few seconds before he continues, “It’s the last picture of my father alive.” 

Peter, pulse still racing, takes the few steps to get to Matt and grabs the hand not holding the coffee mug, “And it was my uncle’s favorite photo. We…” Peter looks down where their hands are joined, letting go of the appendage like it's burned him. 

“It’s a point of connection you never considered.”

Peter nods enthusiastically, it seems his previous nerves were completely taken over from this realization. “And it makes everything seem… so much more real, you know?”

Everything’s seemed real since the beginning, since he first met Spider-Man on a roof in Hell’s Kitchen and could feel his muscles tighten with untold strength and control. His movements fluid enough that Matt perceives them as musical. 

Of course it would’ve been Peter who was Spider-Man. Peter who’s scent caught his nose in the courthouse and lit his body ablaze. 

Spider-Man’s body, even before knowing he was an omega or his true mate, was an incredibly alluring thing. 

“It’s always been real, Peter. That’s why I asked you to lunch the day we met as civilians.”

Peter walks away towards his coffee mug like it’s a shield. “That was odd. Even after I’d lied to you for a year.”

“Even after you’d lied to me for a year,” Matt repeats, setting his own mug down and taking soft steps toward the man in front of him. “I’ve always been interested in Spider-Man, ever since I met him. And I find I’m interested in Peter, too. You’re a good person— so much better than the other people in our field. Do you know what I refer to you as in my head?”

“How would I know how you refer to me in your head?” Peter laughs, but even without hearing the other’s heartbeat, Matt would be able to tell it was full of anxiety. 

Matt takes a deep breath, “I think of you as the best of us.” 

“Oh.” Is all Peter says. It takes a second or two, the next thing he does is throw back his head and gulp the rest of the coffee down in one go.

Matt knows the other man is going to run before he even does, the muscles of his legs tensing up with potential energy right before he says, “Hey, it’s been great, and I’m glad to know you better, but I think I have to go?” 

At least he’s saying goodbye, Matt thinks. 

Peter’s already halfway out of his window before Matt replies, “Sure.”

All Matt gets is a loose thumbs up before Peter is out, swinging through Hell’s Kitchen faster than Matt’s ever witnessed.

He puts the lid back on the sugar, both mugs in the sink, and begins waiting. 

Chapter Text

“What the hell is wrong with you, Peter Parker?” Peter says, outloud, to himself, pacing his studio apartment. The glass on the ground didn’t do anything to him, but that doesn’t change the fact he smashed it onto the ground the moment he slid into the apartment through the window. 

There are other things he could’ve broken, but not many, and that glass was pretty much asking for it, having the gall to sit on his counter all innocent-like. 

It isn’t a shock that Peter ran away, this happens probably a bit more often than the people around him would like. MJ usually has some choice words, and she would use them in this scenario, too. 

Peter groans. There’s no way she won’t figure out he ran from Daredevil, again , for the hundredth time. He must have something of a neon sign above his head, because that’s how MJ makes him feel sometimes. 

This is what he gets for staying friends with an ex-girlfriend who can see right through him, he thinks. 

It’ll have to wait. He can’t show his face over there again, not now, not this soon. 

He only hopes Matt will call him when the spider silk falls off to get another layer, but he doubts that’ll happen. 

—

A week passes before Spider-Man makes another trip to Hell’s Kitchen. New York in general has been quiet the last week, giving Peter a lot more time than he usually has to think. Spurred on by MJ and Miles berating him, the memory of running out of Matt’s apartment has been leaving a sour taste in his mouth, the taste growing with everyday that passes. 

The mask does more for Peter than anything else, a second skin he’s worn since he was sixteen. MJ’s made comments about how she can tell when it’s Spider-Man talking or when it’s Peter, and Peter can’t help but agree. 

It’s because of the mask that he can pretend to sneak up on Daredevil. Pretend, because he knows Matt knew where he was the moment he crossed the border to Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Daredevil! Didn’t expect to see you here!” Spider-Man flips onto the roof Daredevil was perched upon, “Doing your best to imitate a gargoyle? Can I join?” Daredevil’s head isn’t pointed at him, but he can tell the man’s full attention is on him. Before he could reply, he plops down, a respectable distance away from him, and mimics the other’s position: squatting on the side of a building, leaned forward enough that, if Daredevil were a civilian, Peter would be pulling them away from the edge. 

Spider-Man only lets a couple seconds pass before getting what he has to say out of the way. 

“About the other night—I—Sorry the other guy chickened out on you last night.” Everything he thought of, every line to say, eludes him. It’s like he’s grasping at straws in an attempt to salvage things he wasn’t even sure he wanted salvaged until now. Where Peter is usually a broken faucet of words, it seems with Daredevil, that can change. 

Daredevil’s been still this whole time, but Peter can see the muscles of his back relax. Where his shoulders were previously a straight line—coiled up and tense—now they sag on either side of him. Peter’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, but it’s a reaction.

“I’d like to make it up to ya’, if you’d like?” Daredevil’s head shifts ever so slightly, letting Peter know he has his full attention. “As you can tell, I’m not too good at the whole ‘regular person thing.’ So, would Daredevil like to patrol with Spider-Man? Regularly?” He sees the corner of Matt’s mouth twitch up, something that Peter finds he cares about way too much. 

“We’re talking about ourselves in third person now?”

“You can’t tell me, as someone with an alter-ego, that you don’t do the exact same. Spider-Man and the other guy are two different creatures.” 

Daredevil hesitates, then shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I can understand that. Daredevil definitely isn’t a lawyer.”

“And Spider-Man definitely… well, Spider-Man is a photographer, actually. If I had to profile Spider-Man I’d probably guess that.”

“Not the best cover, admittedly.”

“Not everyone can have a fantastic cover story. But you’re avoiding the question: Can Spider-Man and Daredevil patrol together? Routinely, but not predictably. Like, every other week, but on a day that we didn’t do before. We might need to get a calendar?”

Matt lets out a chuckle, making Peter grin underneath his mask. Matt can probably hear it—in fact, Peter would bet money that he could—but the knowledge does nothing to make his grin falter. 

“How about we do the simple thing, and you join me in Hell’s Kitchen when the rest of New York is slow?”

Peter hums thoughtfully, “I feel like that gives me an excuse to like, not do that, though?”

Matt, Peter guesses, finally decides to relax fully, and he sits down. His legs hang off of the side of the building they’re on—some brownstone in the heart of the Kitchen—but his hands grasp the side. He’s relaxed, but in such a way he can move at a moment’s notice. “Maybe, but if we plan on a specific day and something comes up, then you won’t come anyway.”

Peter’s not sure what to make of that. Schedules help to keep things concrete, he knows this, but he’s also highly aware of his tendency towards breaking them. Maybe that’s one of those facts that doesn’t apply to someone like him. 

Almost like Matt can hear him, he continues, “If you make a habit of joining me on slow nights, then it’ll be easier to keep up with. Do you schedule things with MJ? With the other Spider?”

No, not really, is the answer. Any attempt at a schedule has been thrown out within a month. “Yeah, you might be right on that.”

“I usually am.” It’s said with a hint of humor. 

Peter rolls his eyes under the mask, “Somehow, I doubt that.” Peter does an unnecessary flip, landing on the edge next to Matt (but not too close) and says, “Speaking of people doing things right, how’s your wound healing? Has the silk fallen off yet?”

There’s a pause, as though Matt’s trying to remember what Peter’s talking about before he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, it’s flaking off. Maybe if you patrol the whole night with me, I’ll allow another layer.” Matt’s allowing himself a full grin now, something that Peter so rarely sees paired with the Daredevil mask. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Peter says, grinning back. 

"What? You've never had to make someone spend time with you with the threat of your own discomfort?" Matt says, sarcasm dripping from his tone. If word got out about how funny Daredevil was, Matt was guaranteed never to live it down.

"You'd have a good quip game if you just opened your mouth a bit in the field," Peter retorts. "But no—you've got this Batman-esque thing going on where you're the most stoic around."

His grin is softer now. At first, the movement makes Peter think he's said something wrong. Maybe Matt doesn't know who Batman is and thinks he's making a blind joke, but the grin doesn't drop completely. It's more comfortable. It's familiar.

It's a smile he could wake up to in the morning and, just maybe, not want to run away from.

The moment passes, but Peter can tell Matt felt it as well—the shift in the air, going from colleagues who happen to be perfect biological matches, to two people who are going to try.

It's a dangerous thought, but Peter has the mask on, and Spider-Man is different from Peter. Spider-Man is strong, does what's right, and does not run away.

—

They set up a routine, a routine of Peter calling Matt whenever the night is slow and spending the latter half of those nights patrolling Hell's Kitchen.

New York as a whole has been quiet recently, a fact that has Peter's stomach rolling more often than not, but it's been giving him a lot more time with Daredevil. A fact that is both appreciated, and has MJ and Miles smiling at him when they think he's not looking.

It's been a month since Daredevil's wound that brought them to his apartment, and with the three applications of spider silk, the scar doesn't become hypertrophic nor is it super dark. Peter has the urge to give him further scar care tips, but doesn't. They're vigilantes, and Peter would be lying if he said he took the best care of his body. While he could buy scar cream and ointment and silicone scar strips, he doesn't.

Learning to care about Matt is something that Peter's having to work on. Not that he doesn't care, but learning to care while not being overbearing and wanting to wrap him up nice and safe. MJ was a civilian, and while he knows he was overprotective, it was for a reason, but Matt isn't like that. Matt fights better than him, fights better than anyone else Peter has known. People like Deadpool or Wolverine have the advantage of being functionally immortal, but Matt's quicker and he can take a punch almost like he has a healing factor. Peter knows it runs in the family now, knows that Matt's sewn up his father's face because of how often he took hits.

Peter's a scientist (or, would've been were he able to keep down a job) and he naturally catalogs information on those he's interested in. He finds himself going through what he knows of Matt more often than he would like, or even realizes.

They don't go out and get food, they don't go on dates, they don't do anything but patrol. Matt hasn't once invited him over, and while the avoidant part of himself is relieved, the rest of him is irritated.

A month of them patrolling multiple nights a week, sitting on various perches and roofs like they belong there—they do—and softly talking. Peter was expecting Matt to make a move on night two, definitely by night three, but it's been weeks, and there's nothing.

He's afraid Matt is waiting for him to make a move, but that's never been how Peter operates.

MJ had to tell him he was dating her. He thought they were just hanging out, and even though he had feelings for her, he was happy to be in her presence. Felicia was similar, taking him by the hand and showing him exactly what she wanted.

Matt isn't doing that. He's respectful, and calm, and kind, and everything Peter could possibly want in an alpha.

"Helloooo? Earth to Pete?" Miles says, breaking Peter out of his thoughts.

Oh, right.

"Yeah, sorry—What was the question again?"

Miles holds back a laugh. "It wasn't a question. You're really lost, dude. Did you get hit too hard last night?" The small smile turns into a frown of concern at the drop of a hat, the younger spider's eyes darting over Peter's head and shoulders and torso as though trying to spot any injuries he didn't see prior.

MJ does laugh out loud, a snort escaping her before she hits Miles on the shoulder playfully. He doesn't know why he lets them sit on the opposite side of him. It gives them the perfect vantage point for making fun of, or interrogating him. "He's not hurt, he's lovesick!" MJ puts both hands on the table, looking at Peter with a mix of love and suspicion. "Has he made a move yet?"

Miles frowns, "Lovesick can mean hurt, can't it? I mean, sick is another form of hurt-"

"Stop it, I'm trying to get information. Peter?"

Peter sighs, his shoulders slumping as he considers the routes he can go down. Ultimately deciding to tell the truth, he avoids eye contact when he says, "No, he hasn't, but neither have I, so it's an us problem, not a him problem."

"Aw, have you told him you're bad at the whole relationship thing?" Peter's mouth opens in shock before MJ corrects herself, "I mean, with the beginning of it. You never know when someone likes you! It's really adorable." She looks at Miles consideringly before continuing in a quieter voice, "You know, maybe it's a spider trait. Hailey so likes you."

Getting Miles to blush isn't exactly a hard task, but the blush on top of his cheeks and showing on the tips of his ears is stronger than any other he's seen before. Even when Miles was showing him his powers for the first time and realized he'd made it sound like he was asking Peter for puberty advice, he hadn't blushed as hard. 

Hailey became a quick friend of Miles and Ganke after helping them apprehend some robbers, and later learned Miles' identity. Peter was even learning some ASL in his spare time to better talk with her. 

The sparks between the two of them are so obvious now that Peter thinks about it. He hasn't been thinking about anything outside of himself, Matt, and Spider-Man's job. Well, he's also thought of his employment issues, but taking pictures around New York has been putting food on the table, and that's all that matters for right now. A teaching position opened up at Miles' school for next year, though, and a very large part of him is considering it. 

He could be good with high schoolers, right? 

"Man, you're really getting stuck in your head today," Miles says, making Peter groan. It's not just been today, it's been for the past few weeks.  

His head whips back to MJ when she takes his hand from across the table, holding it in both of hers. "Peter, you hid from him for a year. He probably knows you don't hate him anymore--"

"I never hated-"

"Shush. It would've looked like that to him," she interrupts him with an annoyed glance. "He knows you don't hate him, he probably even knows you like him, but you still avoided him for a year. Even the most confident alpha would be put off by that."

Peter sighs, his jaw clenching in frustration. "I know, I know."

"Then do something about it." Her voice is softer now, probably aware she's pushing him a bit further than she thought when she started down this line of questioning. "He's spending all this time with you, right? He likes you, and it's not just because of the true mate thing."

Shoving a fry into his mouth, Peter contemplates her words. He hears Miles and MJ start talking to each other when they realize he won't reply verbally, and relaxes. 

If he can make a decision come nightfall, if he can build up the courage to bear his heart in a way that won't physically hurt him, he'll be happy. Or, not happy, but not disappointed in himself at least. 

—

Come nightfall, and it's still just as slow as every other night has been where he's called Matt. He wonders if the criminals of Hell's Kitchen have figured out anything about their relationship yet, but it's a silly thought. 

For the brief period of time when Spider-Man and Deadpool patrolled fairly regularly, Peter watched his Twitter mentions go up and up with the implication of their dating. They'd nicknamed them "Spideypool." Drew art and everything. It was funny for him, but he didn't show it to Deadpool. That sounded like something he'd have brought up potentially too often, and he and Spider-Man weren't as close as the fans on Twitter liked to believe. 

A few hours pass, Peter stopping two attempted muggings and one break-in, and then there's a lull. His spidey sense pulls him towards nothing because there are no crimes going on—at least, no crimes he cares about. People think Spider-Man's the most law-abiding citizen around, but Peter's of the belief that piracy is a service to the community. 

He patrols around his area for even longer than normal, wanting to put off the inevitable, but his brain has gotten into a rhythm of calling Daredevil whenever the night is slow. A few too quiet minutes pass, and he pulls his flip phone out of his pocket. 

A surefire way to get Peter to do anything is to get him into a routine, and he's starting to think Matt knew this going in. 

The call is answered only three rings in. "Dee!" Peter projects his most fake cheery voice through the speaker. "How's it happening, stranger? Things bad? Things coo-"

"It's slow here, too. C'mon over."

Rolling his eyes, he shuts the phone without answering. Matt knows he's on his way now, and things aren't sounding catastrophic in the one section of New York the Devil calls his home. He puts the phone back in his pocket, leaping off the building he was perched upon.

The wind from his swings can get in the way of audio on any phone or speaker system, no matter how good it is. Back in high school, Peter tried testing out any speaker he could get a hold of in his suit, and it still made it hard for MJ to hear. In the years since he was in high school, speakers and noise-canceling technologies have come much further, but he didn't want to bombard Matt with the sound of the air beating against him as he swung through New York. After so many years, it was comforting to him, but too many minutes spent swinging left a ringing in his ears not unlike the ringing after a long car ride. 

There's such calm in New York, calm that Peter can't wrap his brain around. There are always slow seasons. Seasons where the criminals stay inside rather than go after others, but it's rare. The only time it's been this quiet was a few months after Spider-Man hit the scene, when everyone was watching their backs much closer than they typically did. It lasted a few weeks, villains preparing and lying in wait, hoping the new vigilante would take a step back. 

They were also probably hoping he would die at the tender age of fifteen. 

He's zipping through the boroughs of New York, the wind feeling more like a slap rather than a caress. He's not too far, as he'd started in the direction of Hell's Kitchen before he even called the other man, but Hell's Kitchen isn't the closest neighborhood to Queens. At a regular swinging speed, it takes roughly twenty to thirty minutes, and that's if Peter isn't caught on something beforehand. The New York nightlife is present, but not nearly as much as before Dr. Octavius released the plague upon New York. 

Many died, a number Peter can't remember right now, as well as his Aunt May, who revealed in her last breaths that she knew who Spider-Man was, and had for a long time. She'd done the impossible, something Peter thought only MJ could do, and kept it to herself. The more he thought about it after, the more he wondered when she knew. When she realized that the vigilante being broadcast on the news was her nephew. 

Was it one of the many times he last minute hid his mask and suit in easy to reach places? Was it when she saw his bruises and other injuries? There were so many times for her to realize, and there were so many years where she said nothing. 

What would she think of Matt? He's a lawyer, one of the widely known successful jobs, but he's also a vigilante. 

He would like to think May would approve, and... He doesn't know if she would. He doesn't know what life she wanted for him, what life she imagined when she first took in that trembling child. 

Or, she'd say she was proud, that she understood the only one who could fit Peter perfectly was another vigilante. She'd compare and contrast their lives and give Peter the most succinct version she could come up with. May always did that. She lived in her head, figuring things out long before she ever actually said anything. When Peter started dating MJ and hid it like all children do, she kept quiet, until Peter came clean and she laughed and told him she'd known for months. 

He's finally close enough where he can see some of the more distinctive buildings of Hell's Kitchen at the apex of his swings, and is almost disappointed when his spidey sense doesn't tell him there's danger nearby. 

Then, he could put off this meeting. 

He likes Matt, he really does, that's not why he wants to put this off. Peter is the most stereotypical unavailable man around and he hates having to be the person to instigate things, and he knows it. The only thing getting him through this is that there's a possibility he'll never have to instigate anything with anybody else for the rest of his life if this goes well. 

"That's also a problem," Peter whispers under his breath. The whole "forever" thing that people don't shut up about when it comes to true mates. 

He gets to the edge of Hell's Kitchen, flipping onto one of the buildings they've been regularly meeting on for a couple of weeks now. They change which one they meet on every few days so they don't get predictable—another thing you have to worry about when you're a vigilante that others don't think about. Establishing routine is the vigilante killer, as no one says. 

Peter's ears pick up the quietest footsteps on the building's fire escape. It's only audible to him because Daredevil wants it to be. Daredevil is one of the people most in control of his body, in such a way that's mesmerizing to Peter. He likes watching him move, likes his fluidity and the skill that's been beaten into him from a lifetime of training. 

He finds he wants to know his history more than he already does because there's no way he learned to fight like this from a boxer, and from what he's heard of Jack Murdock, he doesn't think he would've sparred with his blind child anyway. The things he's learned from Matt are fleeting, safe things Matt could tell someone and not quite bare his heart. Which, Peter's done the same. He's kept a good distance. He's made sure not to go to his apartment again, for starters. He's barely talked about his friends, and he's certainly not mentioned his aunt. 

A knot is tied in his chest, and he doesn't know how to untie it. 

"Hey, Dee!" 

The nickname is the only indicator of their relationship, but even so, he's been calling him that since they first made contact. Something about it feels personal in a way that's safe enough for even a maskless Peter. 

Not that he isn't masked now; he isn't crazy , but the sentiment is still there. 

"Y'know the whole Murphy's Law thing? The 'anything that can go wrong will go wrong' thing?" Peter can almost see the raised eyebrow underneath the mask, even though that's impossible. "How come nothing's gone wrong in the past few weeks? Where is my world-ending, cataclysmic event?"

Matt huffs out a laugh, "I wouldn't go shouting that if I were you." 

"Yeah, that's kind of the thing, right? Knock on wood, and all. Like knocking on wood even really works, but since I'm not doing it, if something happens, I'm going to convince myself it's all my fault." Like everything else has been, he thinks, but fortunately keeps himself from saying. "Got anything funny going on in the Kitchen for me? Or are we runnin' on rooftops again?"

Peter can already see from Matt's relaxed stance that he doesn't have anything pressing, and that's confirmed when Matt says, "I think we'd be running on rooftops no matter what was going on, but no, there's nothing going on."

A cold sweat almost breaks out on Peter's skin before he says his next words, the only thing keeping him from freaking out being the mask adorning his face and head. He's Spider-Man. 

"Do you wanna get something to eat? Surely there are some food trucks around that're open." His words slur a bit from how quickly he's talking, but he's sure Matt hears. 

There's a brief pause, before something like a smile appears on Matt's face. "The closest one closes in thirty minutes. You like gyros?"

Relief floods Peter's system, the knot in his chest loosening just a smidge. "Love gyros."

Luckily, food trucks are not too expensive—cheaper than a sit-down restaurant, usually—so he's not too worried about paying for himself and Matt. It's partially a test to see if Matt's alpha sensibilities can handle an omega paying for him. 

For some reason, he doesn't think he'll mind. He's hopeful, something he's not used to. 

They make it to the food truck, Peter webbing himself there slowly to give Matt time, and Matt takes all the shortcuts he knows to get there. It's incredible how quickly Matt can move without another form of transportation. Peter figures he's lived his whole life here, worked as a vigilante for years, and probably was just fast for a human. They both order their meals, Peter pulling out his cash before Matt can reach into his own back pocket, and Peter instantly calms at the smell of pleased alpha. 

It won't be a regular thing, but just because Matt's a lawyer doesn't mean he can pay for everything of his. Peter may be broke, but he's got his pride. 

They grab their food, Peter telling the chef to keep the change, and go to the nearest rooftop to eat. They sit in comfortable silence, Matt's head tilting ever so slightly whenever he hears something in the distance. The past few weeks have led to a lot of "Matt-watching," as Peter likes to call it. He's not sure if Matt can tell when he's watching or not, but he wouldn't be surprised if he could feel his gaze on him. 

"Are we needed?" Peter asks, even while knowing Matt wouldn't still be sitting here if they were, and that his own spidey sense would be going off as well. 

Matt shakes his head, taking his final bite of his gyro. "No. Some people yelling at each other a few apartments down, but they calmed down pretty quickly."

Peter smiles, cheeks full of lamb and bread, and swallows noisily before replying, "Good, good. It's a good night, isn't it?" He almost wants to slap himself, but he keeps his composure. 

Letting out a small chuckle, Matt says, "I'd say so. I got free food."

"I can't do that all the time, but I'd like to... treat you more."

Matt doesn't outright turn to face him—he doesn't need to do so to pay attention to him—but Peter can tell all of his attention is on him. He's not sure how, but he can feel it. 

"You'd like to treat me? How?" Matt asks, his tone as casual as asking about the weather, but with a harder bite. 

Honestly, Peter didn't think this far ahead. Everything after paying for the food has been on the spot, and Peter's feeling the pressure of that now. What does he mean? 

He thinks he wants Matt. He's pretty sure, actually, something that's quite rare, but he knows that to Matt, Peter has rejected him more times than he can count. Ever since the first meeting on the rooftop, where Peter figured out their true mate status, Matt has been turned down with every interaction. 

He knows the only way to mend this, and though every word is like pulling teeth, he still manages. 

"I'd like to treat you the way I should have treated you this whole time. Telling you the truth, spending time with you, actually talking about things rather than hiding for months." Peter lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "Actually, a whole year." 

Uncle Ben always told him that apologies, especially important ones, should be given face-to-face, with eye contact letting you know the other took it in. Peter can't do that, not in the mask, but Matt doesn't need to see under the mask. He already can. He can hear every creak of bone and every old injury, the blood flowing through his veins and the muscles that tense underneath his skin. 

"I—" He takes a deep breath, collecting himself. "I want to know you, and I want you to know me if I haven't already royally messed that up."

Matt's expression doesn't change at all, but his scent gives away his contentment. They sit in silence for a moment, Matt formulating a reply and Peter letting some of the tension coiled in his chest unfurl. 

"I'd like to get to know you, too," Matt's voice comes out strong. "But I would like to ask one-" He holds up one finger, as though to emphasize the point, "-thing." Peter doesn't hold his breath, but it's a close thing. "Don't run anymore. Or if you feel the need to run, if you truly can't talk about it, then come back sooner than you have been. A year is a long time, even if I wasn't aware of it for the most part."

"You had no idea?"

Matt laughs, and Peter's relieved he doesn't hear bitterness in his tone. "How could I? I knew Spider-Man didn't particularly like me. Every time we happened to work together, it was out of necessity, and you'd run away immediately after. Still, I've made a lousy impression on every other vigilante in the business, so it wasn't like I blamed you." 

"So it wasn't until the courthouse."

"Had no idea," Matt says, his voice soft. 

Peter goes to apologize, but stops himself. He's already said sorry, the only thing he can do now is try to make things better. Matt's been patient and kind this whole way through, treating him like a friend rather than a potential mate. Without that, Peter doesn't think he would've ever talked to him. "We can get to know each other better. I'll—I'll work on it." His voice trips on the last sentence, as though it's hurting him to get the words out. 

Matt seems to take pity on him, and does something that makes Peter's heart leap into his throat. Matt's hand lays over his own, the concrete of the roof cold beneath him but Matt's hand so warm above. Where normally this would make Peter's heart race, the contact with Matt only works to finally finish untying the knot that's been tangled in Peter's chest. He feels like he can breathe again, after way too long. 

Chapter Text

The next week is exciting, to say the least. Matt starts learning what it's really like to get to know Peter—a feat the other has made almost impossible thus far—and gets to open himself up a little as well.

Matt thinks that maybe he's more used to interacting with new people, with letting new people in. He wonders if it's because of the amount of time the other has been a vigilante, and when he started. In his formative, important years, he'd learned time and time again not to let others in for fear of them finding out his identity. 

Matt's not new anymore, can't consider himself new after Fisk, but he doesn't have the nearly ten years of vigilante experience that Peter did. 

Peter lets him hold his hand, lets him graze his fingertips over his shoulders as he passes, lets him give him coffee at night after patrol. At this point, after Law school and his extracurricular activities as Daredevil, coffee's more of a comfort than any sort of stimulant. A comfort that will quickly give him a headache if he forgets to consume at least two mugs a day.

Matt's found himself happy these past few days, and New York has remained slow. The lack of crime has started to get on his nerves—a dip in crime is usually immediately proceded by a sharp rise—but it gives him time with Peter.

That doesn't mean they aren't both on edge, waiting for a shoe to drop that may take weeks. 

It's two in the morning, and they're in Matt's apartment. It gives Matt a certain amount of giddiness that he never feels with anyone else to witness Peter in his home, Matt's scent beginning to cling to the fabric of his suit. 

"Has there ever been a period where crime's been this low for you?" Matt asks though he's fairly sure this can't be the only time this has happened. 

Peter's gloves and mask are off and on the counter, both of them leaning over as they pull fruit from a large bowl. Matt's made a habit out of feeding Peter whenever he can, lest he smell the unhappy omega he smelled the day of the court case. 

Peter talks around the strawberry he's chewing. "Right after Spider-Man first appeared, a lot of the crime stopped for a while. It was like people were just realizing that sometimes actions have consequences." Peter rolls his eyes at that, swallowing the rest of his strawberry. "I was optimistic and hoped that meant crime would stay down, and that just seeing a Spider in the sky would deter people. There are people who can't even look at pictures of spiders! 'Why wouldn't a spider in the sky work,' said sixteen-year-old Peter Parker. But no , a lot of people were preparing for how to deal with the local arachnid infestation." 

"I could see that being an issue."

"Yeah, it sure was," Peter says, looking up at Matt before he picks up the bowl of fruit and brings it over to the couch. Matt's interest piques; even with their newfound closeness the past week, Peter's not sat anywhere but one of the standalone chairs, and now he's pretty much summoning Matt to the couch with him. He follows, not wanting Peter to take any sort of hesitation as a rejection. He's not had the hypothesis proven, but he's got a slight suspicion that Peter's a bit sensitive to rejection. Not in the way that he can't take "No" for an answer, but more in that if he feels like he isn't wanted, he'll run away. 

The way he's gotten to know Peter in just these few weeks of them spending more time patrolling together, it's amazing to Matt that he could think for a second that Matt didn't want him. Peter's scent and body are infinitely attractive to Matt, but it's not just that. The confidence with which he moves, the strength coiled underneath his skin—Matt's sure that Peter could snap him like a twig, and the thought excites him. Matt's never been known to be submissive, and as an alpha it's expected that he wouldn't be, but with Peter, he could see himself letting go. Just for a moment, though. 

Peter's strong enough to snap him, but that would make his submission mean more than anyone else's. 

Matt shakes his head free of those thoughts. If Peter smelled arousal on him just from sitting on the couch next to him, the other man might never let him close again. Yet, he also guessed that if the other knew he was treating him with kid gloves, he'd probably be pissed as well. Matt doesn't think there's a real way to navigate this that doesn't get him in trouble later, but he's fine trying. His method of letting Peter do the work while being outwardly understanding and gentle has worked wonders. 

Peter sits on the left side of the couch, the furthest away from the window. It's telling how cautious Peter has been with him up until now, because the fact he chose a seat that didn't make the window immediately accessible almost makes Matt's face break out into an uncontrollable grin. With how aware Peter is of his surroundings, he's sure this show of trust is purposeful. 

Even if it isn't, that means Peter isn't thinking about things as much anymore, which is a step in the right direction as well. Matt sits next to him, but not close enough to touch, merely close enough for Peter to feel the dip in the cushion from his weight. Peter immediately offers the bowl of fruit to him, reminding Matt of a shield. 

He lets his lips pull into a smile and he pulls a few blueberries from the bowl, cupping them in his hand and dropping them into his mouth all at once. Before he can swallow them, Peter pulls Matt's arm around himself and leans into Matt's side. 

It reminds Matt of how it feels when a cat sits on you and you desperately don't want it to move. How you quiet your breathing so as not to disturb the creature that's decided to put its trust in you. He pauses in his chewing only briefly, but quickly relaxes his whole body and wraps his arm properly around Peter. 

The difference is immediate. Peter nearly goes limp under his arm's weight, leaning his head against Matt's shoulder and slowly shoveling more fruit into his mouth. The fruit's just for Peter, really. Matt's already eaten dinner and unless he overexerts himself (which, admittedly, is quite frequently) he doesn't snack late at night. The feeling of his digestive system working while he's trying to sleep is something that's distracting, even if in the day he can tune it out. 

Peter's body is soft, leaning against his, but he can feel the strength of his muscles even without him flexing. He has someone with more power in their limbs than he has in his whole body nearly laying on him, and that only works to give him comfort. Matt's instincts are telling him to kiss the top of his head, to rub his cheek along his hair to get his scent on him, but he refuses. 

Next time. Next time he will. For now, he just wants to feel Peter against him, and inhale the intoxicating scent that's leaking out around the scent blockers he applied before coming to his house. It's so rare he gets to smell him unhindered, something he never has to experience with anyone else, so he'll sit here for hours if he needs to. 

—

Two days later, and Peter's... feeling pretty good about this whole thing, honestly. He hasn't had to put any more boundaries than he already had, Matt hasn't tried to talk him out of quitting being Spider-Man—which, considering who the man himself was, would be pretty rich—and Matt's just accepted whatever physical contact he's willing to give. 

When he was cuddled against him, he could feel the other man holding back. Matt wanted to squeeze him closer, probably scent him, if he had to guess. It's normal for mates to want to scent each other, especially true mates. It's hard to find a pair of true mates that doesn't scent one another on the daily, so Matt's instincts are probably going haywire at the fact he can't smell himself on his partner. 

Because that's what they are now: partners. Even if he hasn't kissed him yet, even if they don't go out on normal dates—when Peter instigated that talk on the rooftop, he wanted to be closer to him. He finds he wants to be his mate, and that's something that's feeling less and less scary every single day. The longer he goes without seeing him, though, the more worried he tends to get. 

Not like he thinks suddenly Matt's going to decide he doesn't like him, but it's like when he's with him, it's easier to forget all of the ways this can go wrong. Peter's found himself in Matt's apartment tonight, but instead of cuddling on the couch and talking about nothing, he's patching him up. New York as a whole is still quiet, but Hell's Kitchen had a break in tonight that led to a criminal getting a lucky hit on Matt. It isn't bad, nothing a little spider silk won't fix, but it's a difference in routine, reminding Peter of something he wants to ask before it potentially becomes a problem. 

"Sometime, this quiet period is gonna end, and this is going to be our normal," Peter states, his voice level, even as he asks a question. "Will that be okay for you? Patching me up?"

Matt doesn't flinch as Peter disinfects the wound, but he does look up at the question, a puzzled look on his face. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

Peter applies the spider silk and lightly presses up against it to make sure it's set. He licks his lips, as though prepping them for the statement that comes next. "Alphas typically don't like seeing their omegas hurt, you know. I want to know that's not going to be an issue." It's not lost on Peter that he's almost calling Matt his alpha, but he hopes that doesn't completely overshadow the question posed. He's not Matt's omega yet, but he will be soon. 

Pausing for a moment to consider his response, Matt takes this moment to take Peter's hand. It's been happening more and more, physical contact being initiated in quiet moments. Matt's go to is a touch on the shoulder, the small of his back, brushing his hand, and it drives Peter crazy. He's sure Matt can hear his pulse race whenever it happens, his sensitive skin becoming even more sensitive in Matt's presence, but he never gives any indication of knowing what he's doing to Peter. Peter figures he deserves it, he did hide for a year, after all. 

Finally, he replies. "I can't promise I'm going to always be super excited that you're throwing yourself into danger." Peter's stomach drops, moving to take his hand away before he feels Matt squeeze as hard as he can. A pressure which would probably break a human hand. " But, how hypocritical would it be of me to say you can't do that when I'm doing that, too?" His other hand comes to lightly trace patterns on Peter's forearm, almost making his eyes close involuntarily from how much the action soothes him. "And I know you don't like when I do it either, but that's what we do. That's why we're paired together, I think."

Peter didn't realize Matt had stood up until he takes him in now. Matt's only an inch or two taller, a small enough difference that Peter hasn't felt the need to check exactly—not that he really cares—but most vigilantes Peter has met are taller than him. "You think?" 

"Can't really say I know when I don't," Matt's hands come up to lightly cup his face, tracing more light patterns across the skin on the top of his neck, grazing over his scent glands. He taps on his neck, and while they haven't communicated anything about what that means, Peter takes it to mean ‘ Is this okay? ‘

He nods. 

Before he's done with the nod, Peter's pulled closer to Matt. Peter thought Matt was going to kiss him, but instead he slides his cheek against his own, before pulling back and letting his nose graze the side of his neck, right over his scent gland. 

When Peter expected a kiss, he was excited, but now he's fighting the urge to grab Matt and take him to his bedroom. He wonders what type of sheets he has, if his sense of touch is as sensitive as his other senses. Silk sheets? Or regular cotton? He has to focus on anything else, otherwise he'll get caught up. 

Something about someone as attractive as Matt scenting him makes Peter want to go crazy. He wants to grab Matt's hip, pull him closer until their bodies are pressed together fully. 

He doesn't do that, knows what would come of it—something he wouldn't stop—but he does let his nose follow the same path along Matt. Brushing against his cheek, touching his jaw, and resting right where his scent is strongest. It's a shame Matt has to wear scent dampeners in his everyday life, but the idea of every omega in town being able to smell him almost makes Peter on edge. He wonders if Matt feels the same way about Peter, even though Peter's scent is a much more subtle thing. 

The act of scenting and being scented is a normal thing, it's something that Peter's been craving, but he's still surprised when he almost goes limp with relief from it. It's amazing how doing what your body wants can make you feel. 

After, when Peter's getting ready to swing back home, he pushes his cheek against Matt's once more before kissing it softly. Peter can tell Matt's trying to control himself, but the subtle scent of arousal from him is almost enough for Peter to tear his clothes off right there. He's not sure why he doesn't, why he's so hesitant anymore, but he still relents. 

Having Matt's scent on him, he sleeps better than he has in the last year. 

—

The gym's stench should be revolting, the smell of unwashed clothing and gloves in lockers overpowering everything else, but instead of being disgusted, Matt feels at home. 

His dad's boxing gym, a place he can only frequent at night lest people recognize him. Usually he's alone, but this time he has company. 

Peter's looking around, and Matt doesn't have to be able to see his facial expression to know that he's confused. 

"My dad's old boxing gym. We're training." He's not specified what exactly they're training for, but it'll be obvious shortly. 

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Matt pulls out a blindfold, stopping Peter in his tracks. Matt lets him work it out himself, even though he's sure the other's thoughts are probably going in a pretty negative direction. "You... want me to put that on?"

"Wouldn't do me much good."

Peter's dressed in civilian wear but still has the suit on underneath. The scent blockers are mostly absent, probably just residue that didn't come off with his shower before he came here. 

"Remember when I mentioned that secret sense you have?" Peter nods. "It happens without sight, yeah?" Nods again. "So, we're going to train that."

Matt can smell Peter's nerves right now, but the other just puts a fake smile on his face and says, "Are you sure you're not just trying to handicap me so you can win a spar?"

Mouth quirking into a smirk, Matt replies, "We've never sparred, but who's to say I wouldn't win?" He does think Peter would beat him in a spar, but if there were a time when Daredevil really had to fight Spider-Man, he would find a way. "I just want to see how strong it is, and then we can go from there. If it's uncomfortable, you can tell me, but I will remind you that training isn't comfortable." At the end of that sentence, Matt can almost hear Stick, his old trainer, talking in his head. That's exactly what he said to him, one of his moments of kindness even if it didn't sound as such from an outsider's point of view. 

Scoffing, Peter puts the blindfold on. He does it like putting the blindfold on is the challenge, and not the sparring that comes after. It doesn't escape Matt's notice that Peter is very well-practiced at tying the blindfold around his head, and if Matt were a little younger, he would've said to hell with the training session. 

But, not today. He's curious. He wants to see what makes his boy tick. 

After the blindfold is secured, Peter's mouth turns down in a frown. 

"Yeah?" Matt asks. 

"I did just remember something a little inconvenient when it comes to this training session," Peter says, but doesn't elaborate. 

Finally, Matt takes a breath and asks, "What?"

"My spidey sense has never worked on you."

That gives Matt pause, but only for a moment. "That's because we've never been fighting. If I were going to hurt you, you'd be able to sense it." He's not sure if he's telling the truth or not, but things like extra sixth senses weren't exactly something he could Google. Well, he could—you can Google anything—but he isn't sure if the results would be anything useful. 

Peter's head tilts to the side, an outward sign that he's thinking about what Matt just said. Matt's still thinking about the implications of Peter's spidey sense not working on him, something that makes him happy, yet worried. If something were to happen to Matt, if he were to go rogue, he'd want to know that Peter would have every tool in his box available. 

Before Matt can think about it, he quietly lifts the billy club he brought with him, and then throws it hard at Peter's shoulder. Shoulder, so it would hurt, but not deadly like a headshot. Even though Peter could heal (after a "good night's rest," Peter always told him) he didn't want to be the cause of something like that.  

Matt can hear the moment his spidey sense works, can feel his muscles tense before the club even leaves his hand. He's close enough to him that he could've simply felt the displacement of air—if his sense of touch is as heightened as Matt's—but it's a start. Peter catches the club easily, his head turning to Matt afterwards and smiling. "That's good to know." 

It seems like the little push of testing his abilities is all Peter needs to feel excited.

"So, you just have to want to hurt me, I guess? I always thought you were completely separate from that, because even if someone doesn't want to hurt me, I can still feel them with that sense. It's like a map in a game, almost, but without the visuals." Matt hums, walking to the boxing ring and waiting to see if Peter follows him. He can't tell if he realizes it, but he automatically follows. His feet avoid the benches and he moves out of the way of poles. He's still talking, talking about his sense and what he knows of it, but Matt's observing all he needs right now. 

It's amazing what powers Peter has been gifted, and Matt wants to know as much about them as possible. Looking in on both of them from the outside, one would think that Peter was the curious one, the one who has to know any and everything. While this is true, Matt is just as curious—it's a feeling of control, knowing how powerful the person next to you is. Others would probably think Matt was planning something, wanting to take Peter down, but that's not the case either. 

Matt wants to hone this spidey sense in enough that Peter can figure his way out of anything. Anything can happen with what they do, and it's something that gnaws at him daily. When it was just himself, he wasn't as worried, but now that he's got someone—even if that someone is hesitant to use any labels to describe their relationship—he's much more aware of how quickly things can take a turn for the worst. 

Climbing onto the ring, the only time Peter hesitates is when he stops talking. When he's thinking too hard about his spidey sense is when he struggles. 

Matt hums to himself, thinking. He's had plans about this for weeks now, but even just these small observations have thrown him. 

"What do you visualize when your spidey sense is activated?" Matt tries, knowing the answer won't be as simple as words. Matt could try for hours to describe how his senses feel, but he truly believes unless you're a telepath, there's no way to fully understand. Matt has the advantage here since he can be completely attuned to Peter's body, and has been studying it whenever he's around, but even with that, it'll be hard for Peter to explain his sense. 

Peter grimaces, trying to look for the words. "It's not quite like a visual, and since it tells me about things that other, regular senses cannot, I'm not sure if there's a way to describe. You may be able to feel a gun pointed at you from blocks away, but I can tell if the trigger is going to be pulled before they even start moving. The moment the decision is made that something is going to hurt me, I feel it."

"And you can tell the difference? Between someone just gazing at you through a scope and if they are wanting to hurt you?"

Peter nods. 

Matt hums again. "We're going to spar, and you're going to focus on using that sense rather than your eyes. If I had earplugs that I thought would work on you, I'd use those, too, but I doubt any we could get would work."

Peter's expression changes to one of excitement, "I could maybe make some quality noise cancelling headphones? The technology isn't too hard, the hardest thing would be getting it to where the noise cancellation doesn't hurt my ears like most other ones do."

Noise cancellation hurts Matt's ears, too. It's interesting what all they have in common. 

"Well, who's going to start it?" Peter says, and Matt grins before jumping around him to make a jab for his ribs. It wouldn't be a hard hit, if it connected, but it would be uncomfortable. It wouldn't even hurt him for more than a few minutes, but his spidey sense must tell him to get out of the way anyway. Peter's ears aren't as good as Matt's so he shouldn't have been able to hear exactly where his hand was, but he blocked the hit perfectly anyway, twisting his body and moving his hand to smack Matt's out of the air. 

This is looking to be a pretty fun game for them both, if the acceleration of Peter's heart is any indicator. 

—

After the sparring session, Peter's shoulders, back, and legs are all sore from blows he missed. Matt's faster than most people he's fought, and he's coming to realize that Matt is a lot more deadly than he lets on. A few minutes into the sparring session, and Peter found himself stuck in his head, trying to pry open the secrets of his spidey sense that he's never successfully studied before now, and that had been his downfall. 

The key to get Peter to fail at anything is to get him stuck on it, get him to loop through those thoughts over and over again until they're like jelly in his brain space; a gooey mess where you can't tell where it begins or ends. 

The session lasted a lot less longer than he'd like, but the embarrassment was enough for him to be glad it was over. He isn't sure if Matt is taking pity on him by ending early, or simply tired himself out as well. 

Matt's hand came to pat his shoulder softly before he went to put up his stuff and unwrap his hands. It had been interesting, feeling Matt's presence while without his eyesight. 

"I think some progress has been made because even without seeing you, I knew where you were, which isn't something I've felt before." Peter blurts out, playing with the blindfold that was still in his hands. The fabric was thin, but woven tightly enough and with enough layers that it hadn't allowed any light in. Peter could help but think of why Matt has this. 

Did he buy it specifically for this purpose? Did he already have a blindfold on hand for his previous partners? 

"That's good. It's still interesting that you could feel everyone else besides me, though," Matt replies. "How'd you like it?" 

"How'd I like it?" Peter asks, confused. 

"That's what I asked." 

Peter quirks his lips in thought. "I mean, I'm glad we've made some sort of progress, I guess? I know myself a little better now, or whatever."

Matt chuckles. "Or whatever?" He asks, which causes Peter only to shrug. 

He's not sure how to put the feelings of being around Matt while he's trying to teach him into words. Peter loves it when someone knows what they're talking about and takes charge, and that's been most of this night. He's used to being the person who instigates things in this relationship—he recognizes he made it this way by avoiding the other man for a year—but being told what to do, if only for a few minutes, was nice. 

He considers his options, and he knows Matt can hear his pulse quicken with his words, "I like being close to you."

That doesn't even begin to cover all of the reasons why he liked tonight, but it was the simplest. And there's something about being thrown around regularly that starts to shift some wires in your brain. So, if Peter really liked Matt sparring with him, leaving bruises that won't go away until tomorrow, and ordering him around? He's not going to fault himself. 

Matt pauses in what he's doing, his bag half zipped up when he stops. It's not the biggest thing to say, but looking at what all he's given to Matt thus far, it's probably registering almost as a love confession. Peter didn't used to be so incredibly bad at showing his feelings. He was always bad at the exact expression to use, how to tell if someone was receptive to his gestures, but it was never so much of a struggle as it is now. Is it because of last year? The falling out with Otto, getting beaten nearly to death by the Sinister Six, and losing Aunt May in the process? 

It's not the first time that he wonders what May would think of Matt, and it's also not the first time he thinks that she'd like him. Matt's charming, Matt's funny, Matt's respectful. Peter likes Matt, and could even see it turning into love someday. 

"Well, if you want, you could continue being close to me." 

It's not the most romantic of phrasings, not the most smooth, but Peter finds himself smiling just the same. "It's not like I have to go home tonight."

Walking back to Matt's, hand in hand, it feels easy. He's still sore, inside and out, and wears the scars of the past two years, but the avoidance is over. He finally understands what people mean when they say that their true mate is their other half. He's always understood it in the metaphorical sense, but now he feels it. He feels the void that would be left over if something were to ever happen to Matt, he feels how their breathing and steps sync when they're around one another. He wonders what other physiological changes come with it that he's never bothered researching, wonders if Matt can hear and sense the things that make them a pair. 

His mind races, but it's no longer with fear. It's with a healthy curiosity that people have tried to beat out of Peter time and time again. 

When they get to Matt's apartment, Peter finally pulls him in for a kiss. 

The feeling of his lips on his own is enough to make Peter almost whimper, but he catches himself. He's been waiting for this for so long, longer than he knew he even wanted it, longer than he's even known who Matt is. Instead, he lets himself sigh against Matt's lips, content. Matt's lips turn up into a smile.

It's never easy for Peter to do anything, but the last few weeks with Matt have been nothing but. It's easy to be with him. 

"So, now that you've kissed me, does this give me free reign to kiss you?"

Peter's grin stretches from ear to ear as he replies, feeling freer than he has in years, "I'd like nothing more than that."