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The morning sun trickled in through the holes in the curtains and dripped down onto the bed, warm and kind like honey. Her limbs moved freely and stretched out across the wide space, able to feel the grooves in the mattress. A soft breeze floated down to greet her at the beginning of the day from the open window and as she stretched she felt her arm brush against something firm, heavy, unmovable. Eyelashes fluttered and then separated and the world came into focus. The low ceiling was still there to greet her, the large desk space in direct line with the bed was dormant, untouched, shut down. She rolled over onto her side and brushed her hair out of her face and then rested on her hands. Her knees tucked up under the blankets as she stared across at the open space.
She had been here before, in fact she had been here many times before, but each visit prior had served a different purpose, singular in nature, driven by a need she hadn’t processed, an emotion she couldn’t access. Rage had blinded her, consumed her, it had stained the world red, even if for only an instant. She slipped her hand out from underneath and stared at it, pale skin, faint freckles, trimmed nails. There was no sign of the red that had stained her because of her rage, it had been washed away but in the quiet peace of the morning she felt a new colour of emotion flicker through her heart before she quickly jettisoned it.
She looked out across the apartment, it had been a mess when she first found it, dark, dingy, decrepit. She didn’t need to hop into anyone to understand something was wrong. There had been a loneliness that echoed around the apartment, the haunting of a ghost of the man who had been lost. Her pity hadn’t stayed her hand at the time, it should have. If she had not been so blinded by her rage, she would have seen the pain that was clear as day to anyone who knew what the signs all pointed to.
Isolation has a funny way of playing tricks on the mind while draining the heart of joy.
Yet now as she stared across at the space she smiled at the new warmth she felt from the space. The sunlight that had so kindly decorated her skin with its warm embrace lit up the apartment, freshly painted cupboards were visible, a small table in the corner was now present. Upon it rested a small jar of flowers, picked from a bucket at a bodega store, they stood at attention upon the centre of the table, preening in the sunlight. The sofa that had once seemed so sad now looked comfy, cosy, and she could attest to that herself.
She breathed in slowly and felt her body receive a fresh breath. Her lungs expanded, her chest rose, her fingers twitched and her eyes focused on the world around her. Everywhere she looked there was evidence that the man she had been so cruel to at first had extended the kindness he had offered her to himself. And he was kind. She knew that better than anyone, she had seen the source of his kindness and knew it was unmatched. Years spent running had only turned her cruel. The system abandoned her, the city rejected her, she had found herself alone, and then all of a sudden, at the height of her grief and rage and desperation to give into her darkest emotion, there he was.
There he was. Tall, broad shouldered, the weight of the entire city on his shoulders. He met her in the darkness of her loneliness and together they found a way out. She watched how the man she had doubted, carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders and then watched as he reached out and helped carry her weight too.
Red was their colour it seemed.
Even in the lowest moments of their loneliness and desperation, they matched. She breathed in deeply and felt him breathe beside her. His constant slow steady breaths that seemed to ground her in a way nothing else ever had. Her mind flickered and she reached out and felt his, felt his warmth spread through their mental link when it reached her. Even now, asleep, he was warm, good, kind, sunshine personified, he was a bright light that shone in her darkness and guided her out of it.
She rolled over.
Her eyes moved slowly, until at last her gaze landed on him. Him. A bruise shone in the morning light on his cheek, purple and painful, yet already healing. His curls bounced on his face, his eyelids flickered slightly from movement underneath. Her gaze tiptoed down the thin line that was his nose and fell upon his lips, they were parted. His breath filled her ears, in and out, in and out and with each one the small gap between his lips was made more and more visible to her, a gap she knew well, a gap she knew how to fill.
When did that happen? When did she become so comfortable existing in this space? When did she become so comfortable existing in his space? Her time away back home to find her mother, to find her family had only revealed one thing. She had longed to return, not to New York, not to her life before him, but to him. He had saved her, from Damage control, from rage, from herself. How could she not want to return to him? He stirred and she smiled. Her hair flicked down into her eyes again and she brushed it away behind her ear. An arm snaked forth under the comforter and found him, the cotton vest over his torso couldn’t stop her feeling him, feeling his heart, feeling it beat. She breathed in again and felt it, and with her eyes closed she focused on his presence beside her, his heart beating loudly for her, his heart.
Oh.
That’s when it happened. When she returned to New York to find him, he returned home to find her waiting for him. Even then, upon seeing him for the first time after months away since the incident she felt her own heart lurch inside her chest. An ache had stretched out over her ribcage, one that could only be soothed by the soft brown eyes that never looked at her with judgement, and a smile so pure like water it washed away any of the negative emotional residue that clung to her.
He had accepted her. In the shared memory of his aunt, in the moment when he chose to save her, and every moment since she returned when he once again accepted her, into his life, into his home, and into his bed. That wasn’t originally the plan. Like a gentleman he had offered her the bed and claimed the sofa, scrunched up with his knees tucked to his chest, an old blanket that was a little too scratchy and a little too small over his body. It worked, for a time, until it no longer made sense.
“Come join me.” She had whispered into the dark one night.
She smiled at the memory as it flooded through her mind, like water bursting through a dam.
“What?”
She could still remember hearing the confusion in his voice, the shadow in the dark that was his form moving to sit up and stare across the space. When did she get so bold? When did she decide she wanted more than just his company sharing the space but also his body sharing her space? She didn’t fully know, but for whatever reason, she found the courage to act upon the feeling one night in the dark.
“Just…come join me, it’s your bed…” She said quietly.
There had been a pause, pregnant, weighed, calculated, and as she stared across the bed at him, she knew that in that moment he had thought of every possibility and chose to answer.
“Jean…”
“Stop making me feel bad for stealing your bed, come here, besides I’m cold so I know you are.” She had said.
It had been enough. Maybe the guilt trip, or maybe he was tired of not lying straight, but either way she held her breath where she lay, watching as his form moved across the room and then to the bed. She shuffled across to one side and felt the comforter lift up and the mattress go down as his weight joined hers.
“Hi…” she whispered, rolling over to face him.
“Hi.” He replied, the faint lines of his smile on his face.
“Okay…goodnight.” Jean said immediately, quickly, rolling over abruptly.
She had bottled it.
She bit her lip as the memory concluded. All that conviction to get him next to her and then her courage had fled. A mutinous emotion. Life continued, a rhythm was developed and all of a sudden the distance closed, slowly but surely, until one night they went to bed together, side by side in a bed they shared. Their bed that they shared. In the gentle glow of the lamp, Jean rolled over and faced him, and found his brown eyes already open waiting for her. He looked calm, composed, and somehow in the soft glow of the light, he looked angelic, soft features and a lopsided smile that all seemed to captivate her in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Hi.” he whispered.
“Hi.” Jean whispered back.
The comforter moved with them, the space removed, she brought her leg up and slid it between his and awkwardly lifted herself up to allow his arm to move underneath and around her. It wasn’t comfortable, but that didn’t seem to matter. He was staring at her, Peter was staring at her, her eyes that so often held a storm within them seemed in the moment to be calmed by the soft embrace of the shore that was the rich shade of brown beckoning her home. Her fingers trembled while she extended her arms and reached out to find him. Her palms found his chest, she found his heart, loud, steady, powerful.
“Peter…” she mumbled, in awe of just how powerful he truly was.
“Sshhh…don’t talk…” he replied, his other arm on her hip.
After months of existing together, breathing together, living together, Jean finally realised in the moment that they had reached the destination they had always been travelling to. The limbs entwined, their hearts beating in unison and their mental link vibrating in her mind. Her body was like a ship lost at sea, adrift amongst chaos and yet with one gentle tug he pulled her close, grounded her, and became the harbour she had so desperately looked for. Her fingers gripped his vest, her legs tensed between his and she felt her stomach press against his and the gap between their faces reached a new level of small. His eyes continued to shine. Their noses bumped softly. Her senses broke down, touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste, all deserted her for a split second.
Then it happened. Touch returned as she felt his body press against hers, his hands on her hips. Smell returned as she breathed in his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the detergent used on his clothes. Hearing followed quickly, the sound of their hearts, loud, clear, two drums in the dark. Taste exploded, his lips pressed against hers, soft and gentle, the soft fizz of a firework as it ignited and travelled up into the sky. Sight revealed him to her, the explosion visualised by the light in his eyes, the way he stared at her as the kiss ended.
If she had known that all it would take to finally muster the courage to kiss him properly for the first time herself was months of sharing a bed then she would have climbed into the hospital bed and made an earlier start. That way it would have happened sooner. How many times could she have felt him hold her beneath him on the bed, against a wall, on the ceiling, on the sofa? How many times could she have tasted him, all of him, his pleasure, his joy, his lust? How soon could she have claimed Peter Parker?
“Oh.” Jean whispered as the realisation landed in her mind gently.
Love had been a fierce thing to fight for, to hold onto, for so long it had been intermingled with rage that she had forgotten it could be like this. Soft, slow, delicate, moments that seem to slip between the cracks of time and space. The city around them existed, and yet as she lay there, her head in her hands and stared at him, it did not matter, it could disappear and she wouldn’t notice. Time could pass them by, a whirlwind of hours and minutes inconsequential to her existence, all that mattered was her space had overlapped with his.
He stirred, and Jean watched as he woke, it was like watching the sun rise. His eyes fluttered and then opened and his concentration sharpened with every quick blink until his gaze found her and the corner of his lips twitched and a smile etched itself on his face. She smiled back. How could she not? She had woken to find him sleeping, he had woken up to find her awake, and now they were both awake to face the day together. Life with Peter Parker had its moments of worry, but the beginning of the day was never one of those moments. Here in the safety of the apartment they shared, in the bed they were in together, she did not have to worry. He was within reach, she could feel his heart, sense his mind, hold his body.
“Morning.” He said softly.
“Hey.” Jean replied, her own smile still present on her face.
“What time is it?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” She answered truthfully.
“Mm.” He mumbled and then rolled onto his back.
She rose up and the covers fell back behind her, her pale shoulders were made visible along with the grey vest and green shorts that she wore. She reached down and grabbed them and pulled them back up and around her like a queen gathering her cape and then softly laid herself down along with the covers on top of him. He shifted his arms and she hummed softly into his neck while they closed around her and clicked into place. She was safe. She was with him, she felt his heart beat through his body against hers, felt their legs rub together under the covers and brushed her toes across his foot for a second before she finally settled into a comfortable position.
Her fingers brushed up through his hair slowly, her nails scratched along his scalp, and then sunk in and closed around the bunch of curls she held. His fingers tapped gently against her lower back and his shorts did little to disguise the state he had woken up in. She smirked and shifted down and rested her chin on his chest and stared up at him. He met her gaze with a shy smile and then gasped as she pressed herself down where she knew he would feel it most.
“Jean.” He groaned.
“Peter.” She said sweetly
In truth a little too sweetly. Sickeningly sweetly really, she knew what she was doing, they both knew. It was cruel to play with him, but she couldn’t help herself, especially knowing just how much fun she had with where teasing him led. She slowly dragged both hands down the bed and under the covers and smirked at the poor resistance the waistband of his shorts put up to deny her entry.
“Jean…” He mumbled.
“Happy to see me this morning?” She asked as her hands found what she was looking for.
“Always.” Peter said while his hips rose up.
“Good.” Jean said firmly.
Her hands moved away from his body and back to the shorts and tugged. He bit his lip and stared at her while she concentrated on getting them where she needed them to be so that she could access what she wanted. They reached his knees and her hands returned to where they were before.
“We…you…you don’t have to.” He offered weakly, a small stutter in his delivery.
“I know…I want to.” Jean answered before she slid down his body and vanished under the covers.
It was dark underneath them, but it didn’t matter, sight was a sense that she could forgo in the moment, it wasn’t needed really, she only needed to touch him, with her fingers, with her hands, with her lips. Peter was all she needed in the moment, and he was lying there before her, open and ready to be explored.
“Jean!” Peter moaned loudly, filling the room, the bed, her ears with the sound of his pleasure.
Neither knew how much time had passed from the moment he woke to the moment they finally left the bed but it didn’t matter. Pyjamas that had been hastily discarded to the floor were picked up and placed back under the covers and Jean grabbed one of his red sweaters and pulled it down over herself happily. It was thick, soft, and smelt of him and best of all matched perfectly with her combat pants. She sat on the desk chair and laced her boots up while he stood to the side by the door, dressed in jeans with a jacket over his shirt and a smirk on his face.
“What? Jean asked.
“You.” He said simply.
She finished tying the knot and then stood up and adjusted the bottom of the sweater and then looked up at him again, “Oh yeah? Me? What about me?” She asked coyly.
His smirk grew and he approached slowly, each step measured, controlled, she watched him move and felt the world around him react, his strength visible in the way he carried himself. His arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close and her teeth sunk into her lip while her fingers linked together around his neck.
“You amaze me.” He said quietly, his gaze firm, his eyes bright.
“What can I say? I’m just that good.”
“Hungry?” Peter asked.
“I’ve worked up an appetite.” she replied.
“Breakfast at Gregornios?” he suggested.
“Mm, lead the way.” she said, leaning away to nod towards the door.
“Well I could…” He said, picking her up to hold against his body, “Or we could take the scenic route.” he suggested
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at the window behind her and pressed herself tighter against him, her legs side by side against his hip. She felt him shift and heard the thwip of his web shoot from his wrist and then the tug of his arm while he pulled the window down. They emerged out into the alleyway, the wall beside them and then it was gone. They were in the air, side by side, travelling through New York. She looked down and saw people on the sidewalks, cars on the roads, and other residents of New York visible through their windows. She concentrated for a moment and then felt the familiar sensation of her new powers as she blurred the air around their faces, preventing people from seeing them clearly.
The wind rushed through her hair, the sense of free falling in her stomach continued and yet above it all the sense of joy and freedom filled her heart while she held onto him. He moved with control, precision, his body on autopilot as he moved them to where they wanted to go. Tall buildings came into view and then trees and their altitude lowered until they swung quickly over a street and then down onto a path that led through into central park. The trees around them were tall, and a bright shade of green that Jean adored. A wonderful addition of colour in an otherwise grey city. People in the vicinity gave them a wary look and then carried on with their day.
“You okay?” he asked as he gently pulled her away from him and helped her stand on her own.
“Mmhmm, just needs some getting used to, you know flying and all.” Jean answered.
“Webslinging.” he corrected.
“Yeah that, not every day a girl gets to skip the traffic and websling to central park you know.” She said.
Peter chuckled and then took her hand in his and squeezed, “yeah well, you’re not just any girl.”
They walked side by side in silence, and Jean breathed in and out and felt the silence between them. It was comfortable. There was no need to fill it, no need to force it to be something it didn’t need to be. They were together, their spaces combined, connected, entwined. She sighed and felt his thoughts flutter against hers, like butterflies greeting each other. She heard the gravel crunch underneath her boots and wrapped her arm around his and squeezed his hand and pressed herself against his side. Her head tipped down to rest against his shoulder and they walked through the city together.