Chapter Text
It's been different around the Firehouse.
For the past 3 months and 2 weeks it's been different. There was thick tension and patience around the ghostbusters— a waiting game of "who makes the first move?". It's been a slow start honestly, since Winston first came out to them and they all decided to start this journey together.
It's been exactly 3 months and 2 weeks of that. The awareness around everyone made it an unspoken rule. A new door opened with boundaries and yes's and no's, which they all hadn't deemed possible in the past. Before, there were set boundaries; while they were looser than others, they were still there. Body contact was held to a minimum. A friendly handshake or a very short hug? Acceptable, this was the norm for a friendship between men. Cuddling on the couch? It was questionable, but was used mostly to calm each other down and ground each other.
But now, it wasn't a friendship anymore. It was a real, romantic relationship between four men. Now their nightly fantasies can be real, and years of yearning have paid off. Yet, no one moved a muscle. Sure they said their I love you's or at least tried to, but that was it. They moved on like nothing happened. They may cuddle more on the couch now during movie nights, and Peter maybe made one or two more flirty comments, but that's essentially it. During the months, he just got more comfortable actually saying how hot and attractive they were.
Besides that nothing really changed. They would continue the day like nothing was different, as if there wasn't the impending label of 'lovers' in the room. As if they weren't all waiting for one to make the first move. The others expected Peter to do so first, assuming he would be the most eager to seduce them, invite them to rendezvous, and/or kiss them first. Instead he did nothing, he was paralyzed just like the rest. He, too, waited for someone to cross over the invisible barrier.
Usually no one minded though. It was awkward, but they were all too busy to care. So, they just waited.
Peter and Egon were in the firehouse alone. Winston and Ray were out on a bust, and so Peter decided to bother Egon. Egon was, as always, busy in the lab. He had thought that it would be a slow day, so he tended to his fungus collection.
Egon's gaze was focused on a microscope as he watched the microbes move; he had a small sample of caterpillar fungus on a petri dish. He wore blue gloves, safety glasses shielded over his prescription lenses, and a white lab coat over his usual attire. His hair was also in a hairnet— for extra safety.
"Ouh, how sexy," Peter commented as he came through the doorway unannounced. "If you would have told me you dressed like that, I would've bothered you more!"
"Put on the PPE that's in the locker," Egon simply replied with a nod. He didn't look up; instead he heard clothes rustling, a little grumble, then footsteps after.
"Did you wash your hands?"
"Yes."
"I didn't hear any water."
"I washed them before I got here!"
Egon simply sighed. "Put on disinfectant, now."
Peter grumbled, "Yeah, yeah. Fine."
In Egon's periphery, he heard footsteps back out again, followed by the squirt from the sanitizer bottle. Peter walked back in, and Egon finally graced him with a glance. When met with a wolfish smirk, Egon did not entertain it.
"What are you doing?" Peter asked.
"Research," Egon answered simply as he wrote something in his note book.
"Is that the uh- caterpillar mushroom?", Peter asked lazily, making Egon look up in slight surprise.
Peter is a man of many surprises: he seems disinterested most of the time when Egon explained something. Most often, Egon didn't even bother explaining anyway. But sometimes, in the event that he does give some lengthy explanation, Peter would retain information and recite it at random times… With his own twist of course. Nonetheless, it impressed Spengler. It made him remember why he fell in love with Peter Venkman.
"It's caterpillar fungus, not mushroom," Egon corrected, looking into Venkman's blue eyes. "Scientifically known as Ophiocordyceps sinensis." They kept their eyes locked on each other. Silence filled the room, just for a moment.
"You know I'm not gonna remember that," the brunette replied, holding the eye contact intently and grinning just a bit.
Egon immediately gave an annoyed frown and returned to look into his microscope. Peter's grin faltered. "What?"
"You ruined it," the scientist simply responded. Peter opened his mouth in shock.
Offended, he asked, "Wh— what did I ruin?!" He grabbed Egon by the shoulder to make him look at him. He did not budge though.
"The moment, Venkman," Egon replied. Peter sat there for a good few moments, processing.
"W-wait a minute!" Venkman stuttered out, "What 'moment'? What did you have in mind, Spengler!?"
The scientist just smirked as he wrote something in his notebook. Peter watched dumbfounded. Once the realization kicked in, Peter's mouth opened just slightly and his face turned red.
"Ouh you cheeky bastard," Peter just said, almost offended, "as if you would start with romantic gestures."
Egon raised an eyebrow, looking at his lover. "Why is that?" he asked.
"Ouh come on, you're not exactly a social butterfly," Peter reasoned. Egon propped himself up, his eyes locked on Venkman when he completely turned to him.
"What makes you think I didn't already try various romantic gestures?"
Peter stopped for a moment. Surely Egon hadn't tried anything. Surely Egon played the same game they all played. Surely he wasn't that blind to see Egons advances.
"Well, have you?"
"Of course I did," Egon said. "I have been complimenting you more often, I gave you my Twinkies, we have spent approximately a few hours more together than our previous average… We participated in more parallel play together— a common form of love language for neurodivergent individuals, such as ourselves, Venkman. I even make your coffee just the way you like it best." There was a pause. "By the way, you like it just above room temperature to not burn your tongue, with no sugar but a lot of milk." Egon then turned around to his microscope again.
Peter sat there dumbfounded, completely baffled. No way in hell was Dr. Egon Spengler the first to be intentionally romantic in his own way. The worst part is, it all made sense. Everything Spengler mentioned was right. He has spent more time with them. He has shared his sweets collection with them more often. He has complimented Venkman's ideas, intelligence and even his outfits more often in small "good job, Venkman" 's and "I like when you are smart" 's. When Egon was busy attending to his hobbies, he was more in company with at least one of the other ghostbusters, like right now. He also did make each coffee perfectly, just like how Venkman likes it.
Peter's cheeks turned into a deep red. He heard his heart beat in his chest as he processed every one of Spengler's examples.
"W-Well," He started to stutter out, "how should have I known?!" He started to defend himself as if Egon was the one accusing him.
"You know— you are so odd, Spengler," he began quietly. "I mean, did you really expect me to pick up on such subtle gestures?"
Egon sighed and continued his work as Venkman started to talk about just how subtle his gestures were. He wasn't particularly offended by it, moreso annoyed. It distracted him from his work. He loved Venkman but it was tiresome listening to his deflection of this situation. Venkman wanted directness? Fine, he'll get it.
Egon looked up from microscope again and turned to Venkman. Then, he grabbed him by the collar and connected both their lips.
Peter Venkman was indifferent to kissing and romantic gestures, in reality. All his life he was told that kisses were something special, especially the first. 16 year old Peter was disappointed when he kissed a girl for the first time. 18 year old Peter felt the same when he kissed a man for the first time. All his life it felt disappointing, not because his partners were bad kissers but because he felt nothing. It was uneventful. He watched friends talk about how they just couldn't get enough of each other when making out or kissing. After his 30s, Peter accepted there just must be something wrong with him.
Until now.
Until Egon kissed him. Until he felt the scientist's lips on his. Until he thought his heart would pop out any second, just because it was beating so damn fast. Peter Venkman has kissed many people in his time, but this felt just like the fairytales he had heard. This felt like he had just kissed someone for the first time ever.
And as Egon leaned back and looked at Venkman, he felt the urge to do it again.
"Was that direct enough for you, Venkm—"
"Do it again."
Egon paused.
"What?—"
"Do it again," Peter repeated, looking wide eyed to the other. His cheeks were red, almost looking like a puppy as he nearly pleaded. Peter didn't move a muscle as they both just stared at each other. Honestly, Egon didn't expect that reaction; it made him flustered. He cleared his throat awkwardly and mulled it over for a moment.
"Very well," he mumbled, yet made no effort to move forward. Egon put his hands in front of his lap as both continued their staring contest.
"Fuck it," Venkman finally breathed out and leaped forward, cupping the man's face in his hands and kissing him again.
This time Egon was caught off guard, but still melted right into the kiss, putting his arms around the man's back as he closed his eyes. Unexpectedly, he quite enjoyed kissing Venkman.
Just like Venkman, Egon didn't understand what was so special about kissing. In fact, he actually disliked the act— but kissing Venkman was just different. Venkman was eager, he did most of the work, and it was just electrifying. For the first time, Egon completely forgot his work. The air around them felt hot as Venkman deepened the kiss with every passing moment.
When they parted again both men panted.
"Fascinating," Egon murmured, fixing his glasses.
"You can say that again," Peter teased.
A pause.
"Fascinating."