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It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to happen within seconds, leave him breathless, embrace his body with thousands of infinitesimal shudders dancing on the surface of his skin, give him the sweetest heart attack. It was supposed to be just like in the movies. If it had been the movie, their eyes would have met, little starts sparkling in their irises, and the corners would have crinkled under the growing smile. If it had been a movie, he would have reached out without the great fear standing behind him, existing in the shadow.
It would be easy, perfect and Bucky would love him.
But Peter was the one who fell without the chances to come back up. It felt just as if he was cursed to stay in that dark place, profound hole of sorrow. He could just look up, hoping to see the light. And maybe, if he reached out his hand far enough, he would delude himself that he was anywhere near the small shining blue stars.
How ironic it was that superheroes were believed to be loved by everyone.
***
The bitterness tugs at his tongue as Peter tastes the coffee way too strong for him in the Avengers tower. He can’t help but to think how similar it tastes to his life. The acrimonious waves wash over him when he glances at his crooked reflection in the coffee. He swallows it down in one go, Adam’s apple bobbing when he’s done and the flavour burns his throat. He takes a deep, shaky breath. Upon hearing way too familiar steps which approaching he always awaits, Peter pulls his mask on and exits via window.
Swinging helps. Or so he likes to believe. Air hits him harshly, an agile young body bends and swings on the web, penetrating the New York city. There is a particular rush instilling his blood when he’s out as Spider-Man, for a moment he can forget about Peter Parker.
Peter Parker and his feelings, problems, restless mind and a broken heart.
Peter Parker and his shitty flat, his shitty job, his shitty food, his shitty life.
He can swing and stand on the edge of the skyscraper, a step away from freefalling into nothing.
“You don’t want to do it”
It’s a miracle that he’s able to recognise the voice other than his own lately. Peter looks over his shoulder, meets the one who crashed the external silence covering him.
“Unless you are practising new backflips. Then I’ll get my score boards-”
And he doesn’t even have any strength to make Wade stop talking. Which disturbs the older male.
“Baby Boy? Spidey? Peter?”
Peter.
When a large warm hand lands on his shoulder, he feels like crumbling. Wade is silent and even through his mask, Peter can see that he is worried. Way to be more pathetic, Parker.
It’s weird, that the taller male ceases his monologue. It’s soothing, that a pair of strong arms wrap around him, hold him tightly. The ineffable solace envelopes him in Wade’s heat, smell of leather, gunpowder and something so utterly Wade. Peter doesn’t realise when he’s gripping on the back of Wade’s suit as if his life depended on it, when his shoulders tremble and his breathing becomes irregular.
They remain like that as the sky turns into the navy velvet and Peter’s face is pressed against the leather-covered chest.
And he curses, curses himself that he’s unable to embrace Bucky like that, that he’s unable to speak in front of him, face him without a mask on. He curses himself for being an idiot, a pathetic child falling for cold blue eyes, for not knowing how to make it stop and rip his heart out.
“I think you just have set yourself a new hug record without getting a boner”, his voice is hoarse but he tries, the corner of his lips curling ever so subtly. Wade chuckles.
“Oh baby boy, you don’t even know”, the mask winks and Peter’s lips aquiver, forming a reminiscence of a forgotten smile.
Sometimes he wonders why his heart didn’t fall for Wade Winston Wilson instead. Would it be easier?
“Thanks, Wade”, the soft timbre coats his words as he puts his own mask back on and turns around, running to the edge and shooting a web out.
“So much for a boner. Yes, I know White, that ass is amazing.”
***
He doesn’t know why he’s back in the Avengers tower, what brings him there.
Longing.
A tongue runs over dry lips and Peter walks around the empty living room. He traces invisible steps, wanders mindlessly in the darkness. And he really wishes the sleep would come to him as effortlessly as to others. The silence stands still in the shadowy room and it’s almost torturous, how his loud mind can’t turn down the volume. A heavy sigh leaves his lips, resonating the room. When he pulls his mask off and the moment he’s about to take another step forward, his heart stops.
Peter meets a solid muscle wall and glances up, finding the two little glints in the shadows. His breath is caught in his throat, his pupils dilate and face grows pale and-
“Can’t sleep?”
It’s deep, it’s smooth, agonizingly astounding and Peter shivers. Without much light on, he feels Bucky’s presence thousand times stronger. He smells his masculine scent, feels the warmth radiating his body, hears steady breathing.
He’s an idiot for nodding in the darkness. But he can’t find his lost voice.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Peter’s heart hammers against his chest with double force after the pause and it rings in his ears, makes his head pound and he’s about to faint-
“Peter?”
“Ah- Ye-Yeah, sure”
He stumbles over his own words and almost falls when the coldness of a metal palm contradicts with the heat of his own skin. Shivers run down his spine and he gulps. They walk towards the couch and Peter has never been this glad to sit down.
Bucky plays Star Wars and his heart sinks in his chest.
Eventually, slumber weights down on him and he curls up vulnerably. His body betrays him and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. It’s just dark.
In the morning, when the team slowly wakes up, Steve finds Bucky on the couch, gazing at the sleeping figure that looks way more peaceful than when awake. And then Bucky averts his eyes to glance at the blonde, meeting a knowing look. Steve disappears from his sight and he reaches out his metal hand, inches away from the hair covering a sleeping angel’s face.
But before he can touch the unreachable, his hand stops and falls back to his side.
( Peter wakes up alone, covered in warmth and something so undeniably bitter )