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Every single time Frank does something for him, Peter gives him a kiss as a 'thank you'. It's nothing but a sweet, chaste, almost childlike smooch on the cheek.
Patching him up after a rough patrol night? A kiss.
Helping him track informations about criminals? A kiss.
Avoiding killing someone just so he would not upset him? A kiss.
It's cute and heartwarming, and Frank always feels his face flushing up. But it's always just the two of them so he doesn't mind. In fact, every time Frank looks forward to receive his little treat. Not that he ever made a big deal about it, mind you. Usually he just grunts back in what he hopes to be a completely neutral way, and calls it a day. But he'd be a damn liar if he'd say he's not pleased whenever the kiss comes.
That is, until one rainy fall day.
They are hanging out together as regular people. No super-heroes shit happening, just the two of them doing normal stuff. Which is unusual enough for Frank without adding to it the fact that he's basically escorting the kid around like a guard dog with a credit card.
First stop, the bookstore. There, Peter spends a concerning amount of time going aisle to aisle, Frank begrudingly following him around with his arms full of books. The genres are a weird pot-pourri of big brain science and self-help shit and, yeah, a couple of sparlky covered queer romance novels that the kid hurriedly shoves down his canva bag.
Second stop, the florist. The time Peter spends here is more reasonable. He just has to put together a bouquet. Frank accepts with meek resignation the ungrateful but apparently very essential role of scent hound. Since Peter has a stuffed nose, he's the one invested in the task of chosing carefully the best combination of flowers.
Third stop, Aunt May. Frank would like to stay on the sidelines, but Peter insists, so... He bullies himself into not weeping like a baby while Peter introduce him to her, all bright eyes and big smiles and good words. A combination that Frank doesn't feel like he deserves it but fuck it, he's not gonna ruin the moment.
Last stop, a coffee shop. Frank brings at their table his black coffee and the mostrosity of double-caramel-with-wipped-cream that Peter ordered, and sits with him. Listens attentive has the kid gives him the latest updates on Jane's wereabouts. Which is all very interesting, really, but goddamn Peter has pulled off his beanie and his curls are all scattered, and his cheeks are red from the cold outside, and his voice is doing that shrilly thing that it does when he's hyper-excited – that's fucking distracting.
Finally, both crammed under an umbrella, Frank escorts him back home. Peter doesn't shut up for a second for the whole journey – Frank has a hard time faking to be annoyed. Happens when a pretty thing like Peter grabs at your arm and giggles at his own dorky puns and jumps on the fallens leaves to hear the creaky sound they make.
It's all so paifully mundane. Frank is already looking forward to the icing on the cake – the kiss that would seal that weirdly normal parenthesis in their fucked up lives. But then they reach the building entrace, and Peter – he dares to just say goodbye?
Wait a fucking moment...
"Hey, no thank you kiss?"
Peter blinks at him all confused. Then he grins.
"Sorry, you're right. Thank you."
He leans over to plant a kiss on his left cheek.
"Are we good?"
"Nuh-uh." Frank all but pouts, "You owe me two more."
Peter's eyebrows shoot up: "You're keeping count?"
"'Course I'm keeping count!" he grumbles.
Peter shakes his head, snorts softly.
"Alright, big boy."
And then leans again to kiss his right cheek.
"One more." Frank hears himself demanding, like he's possessed by some demon. Pazuzu, the Kiss-Eater demon, probably.
"You ran out of cheeks." Peter points out.
Frank shurgs: "Gotta be inventive, then."
Peter rolls his eyes at him, but then goes on his tiptoes to kiss his forehead.
"Okay?"
Frank grunts.
"Those books were heavy, ya know?" he mutters.
Peter giggles – the cutest sound ever, he swears – and leans again. To peck the tip of his nose, this time. Frank's breath hitches.
"Like," he swallows, "Really heavy..."
And oh... Peter bites down a smile, bumps their noses together, eyes flicking down to his mouth?
And then he does it.
He brushes his lips to Frank's.
Frank, who wants so badly to chase Peter's mouth and kiss him properly. But hey, he's all too aware of how easily this bubble can pop. So he forces himself to stay still, too worried to scare away Peter to even move a single muscle.
"How about now?" Peter whispers, breath tickling his skin. Frank could count his damn eyelashes.
"Not sure."
Caught in a fit of giggle, Peter drops his head on his chest, shoulder shaking. Frank too can't help but snort a laugh, his nerves going crazy. This is so silly! He hasn't felt like this in ages.
Lighthearted. Happy. In love?
Fucking Christ, he's in love...
He got to fall again, find another soul. A second chance for one like him? Hell, it doesn't sound right.
He cups Peter's face, tracec his lips with a thumb. It sounds right for Peter, so he's going to make his best to not fuck it up as usual.
He tips down to kiss his smiling mouth. Not more than a hint of tongue soflty teasing. Peter makes a delighted umm and immediatley yelds, melting in his touch.
"About time..." he mumbles over his lips, the biggest grin spreading over his unfairly pretty face.
So it was all just a plan to lure him, huh? Well, it worked! This fucking kid...
"You're a menace." Frank scolds him, before Peter pulls him down to another kiss.
Night is falling over the city, streetlights turning on all over. It's not summer, and nobody ever saw a single firefly in New York, but Frank could swear those dancing around them are fireflies.