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✧✧✧
“Mr. Storm, we can't keep doing this.”
Laying sprawled across the small twin-sized bed with strong arms tucked away beneath his blond head of hair, Johnny Storm rolls his eyes at the ceiling but keeps a contented smile to shield his annoyance with the recurring debate. “Uh, yeah, we can.”
Sitting at the edge of the mattress, the young woman gathers her clothes from her bedroom floor, sorting them out upon her lap. “No, I mean I'm the Fantastic Four's assistant. I can't--”
“It's your day off. You can do whatever you want.” He dazzled her with a show of teeth. "Including me."
Ignoring his lecherous gaze, she pulls over her shirt and shakes her head, long dark hair falling in her face. “I just—I feel like I'm being paid to sleep with you.”
A dip of the bed and then scolding lips are planting small, tender kisses along the nape of her neck while thermal fingertips trace up and down the length of her forearm. “What? You say that like it's a bad thing.”
She leans into his soft touch as she turns to face him, lips only inches away from contact, her voice low and yearning. “Is it?”
Johnny cracks a smile and pulls away. “No way. It's a privilege.” He rises, roughly yanking up his jeans. “So take advantage of it while you still can.”
He doesn't care enough to spare her a glance, and her face hardens as she watches him slipping into his boots. “What does that mean?”
Johnny shrugs on his shirt, carding his fingers through his pale, tousled hair. “See ya tomorrow morning, Miss Alison.”
A smirk and a quick wink, and then he's shooting out of her window in a blaze of fire.
✧✧✧
Their last assistant wasn't nearly as naive. It took weeks to get that one to finally lay on her back for him. But this one, all it took was a sly, charming smile and she was prancing after him like a little puppy on its first day at the dog park. Talk about easy. And yeah, sure, she's cute and she's fun in the dark. But, honestly, she thinks too much. She can't just go with things, let loose and have a little brainless fun. She always has to second-guess things and, ew, be responsible. Good thing she's temporary. They all are. The FF never really needed an assistant. Giving a broke college student a chance to work for the world's greatest heroes was just their way of giving back to the community. And Johnny's really trying his best to give back to the community all right. But these girls just don't know how to keep their mouths shut. Either that or Susan's developed a new power she hasn't told anyone about. When she found out about Johnny's last little covert affair with the FF's naughty assistant she nearly blew the roof off the place. And, really, he doesn't see what the big deal is anyhow. He's just doing his fair share of community service. Some people just aren't appreciative of him at all.
As soon as he lands in front of the Baxter Building, fire extinguishing around his shoulder blades, he's swarmed by paparazzi, news press, and, of course, his loving and adoring fans. All calling for his attention in every direction.
“Mr. Storm, Mr. Storm! Over here!”
“I LOVE YOU, JOHNNY!”
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Is your hair naturally blond?”
“Can you confirm or deny: Are you and the Inhuman Crystal no longer a couple?”
“How does your sister maintain that body?!”
“Is it true you are going to star in an adult flick?”
“Can I touch your hair?”
“Can you 'flame on' for us?”
…and blah blah blah etc. etc.
Exuding an immense amount of heat was the only way to actually get them to back off. The world was obsessed with him and he loved it, but seriously, give a guy some space.
Making his way up the steps and towards the entrance, Johnny pushes through the crowd and before he even gets the chance to reach his arm out, the door to his palace just magically opens for him. And as he steps in he half-expects a flying carpet to sweep him off his feet and into a room where his ten wives are waiting for him to please each and every one of them until the sun falls and rises again.
He laughs. Life is good, but it ain't that good.
“Lively crowd, Mr. Storm?” The doorman asks as he lets the door fall behind him, shutting them out.
In a show of complacency, Johnny pushes out an exaggerated sigh. “You have no idea, O'Hoolihan.”
By the time the elevator arrives and takes him up to the 44th floor, he's already wondering just how much trouble he's going to be in. He's been gone for almost two days without keeping in contact with the rest of his team and, oh man, Sue's probably gonna chew his ear off for that one. Blabbing on and on about his irresponsibility really isn't much of a motivator. And lately, that's all she tends to do. “Johnny this” and “Johnny that”, sheesh, Christmas is coming up soon and he's really contemplating buying her a muzzle. But he hasn't heard anything about Galactus dropping by for a lunch break so as far as he can tell the world is still in one piece and—wait, where the heck is everyone?
The kitchen's empty, the living room's empty. Did something bad happen? Did those weird bug-like creatures from the Negative Zone kidnap everyone? Another Skrull Invasion? Did Galactus actually come and eat his whole family?
Oh man. Oh man. Oh man!
Okay, okay. Johnny, think good thoughts. Maybe they just went on that family trip Reed's been talking about or something? Because if they did Johnny's gonna be so pissed 'cause he's been looking forward to actually going back in time to the 50's to attend the first opening of Disneyland. (It's a trip mainly for the kids but, come on, do you really think Johnny Storm would pass up an opportunity to ride a kid's ride in a totally different time period where no one could see him?) Ugh, if they left without him Johnny's so gonna kick Reed's ass into the next millennium and—Oh, there they are.
There stands Sue all dressed up in a tight white dress with her hair gently pulled up in a neat little bun. She looks nice, Johnny thinks, if it weren't for the way she keeps fussing with her shawl with her face all twisted up with that murderous 'if-you-say-one-more-word-I'm-not-responsible-for-what-happens-next' look she usually gets right before she yells at you and grounds you for a month-- which kind of ruins it all. Next to her is her husband Reed, who of course can never fully appreciate the beauty standing beside him (even if she looks about ready to rip somebody's head off) and instead fiddles with a small device in the palm of his hand (probably that thing they found in the Negative Zone weeks ago that he still can't figure out how it works but will never admit so). And the big pile of rocks is there too. All suited up with a little bow-tie and everything. It takes all he's got for Johnny to suppress that laughter bubbling in his stomach.
The talking rock's the first one to spot him. “Well, well, well, look'it who finally decided to show up!”
Ben's booming voice could've ruptured someone's eardrum, geez, hasn't the big ape ever heard of an indoor voice? Johnny's face twists up and here comes the obvious question, “Uh, why are you guys all dressed up?”
“Johnny! There you are!” Susan's rushing up to him and it doesn't surprise him that he is to be the unfortunate soul she chooses to feast upon. Before her claws could reach out to him, he decides he'll take one for the team, and so without complaint he shuts his eyes to the nightmarish image of her face and expects to be mercilessly decapitated in front of all his comrades any minute now. Instead, she hooks her polished nails into his forearm and he feels himself being dragged along to where he figures is probably her torturous chamber of death. By the time he opens his eyes he realizes she's already rushed him half-way down the hallway to his room and before he knows it they've reached his doorway and she's practically shoving him in. “Hurry up, get dressed. We're going to be late.”
Johnny has to wrestle himself off of her in a way that hopefully won't upset her too much. “Late? Late for what?”
If looks could kill, Johnny would be so dead right now.
“Johnny. Are you kidding me right now?! Tell me you're kidding me right now!” In the short silence that stretched from his name and to the continuation of the rest of whatever it was she was saying, she blinked at him three times in that rapid repetitive manner of which he knows is supposed to make him feel like some kind of air-headed idiot. And in a way it sort of does. It scrapes right along the sensitive edges of his nerves and he knows what kind of response she's looking for next and he'd honestly be more than happy to give it to her, too. But if he doesn't play it smart he knows he'll never get rid of her. And so he decides he'll only be as predictable as he'll allow himself to be this time and tries a new approach. Well perhaps not exactly 'new' per se, just more along the lines of something he hasn't used in a while.
“Calm down, Sue. Quit yellin' at me.” He switched tactics: lowers his voice and wanders his eyes, shifting them back and forth before landing back on her. “You're gonna wake the kids.”
“Johnny, shut up." She wacks him on the arm, the impact being a lot less harder than he thought it would be. "It's six in the evening, that line isn't going to work.” Sue shouts, the point of her finger following the tip of his nose with every motion of his head, earning her nothing more than a headache inducing eye roll. “Don't you roll your eyes at me, Johnny. I am not in the mood for this right now. Just get dressed.”
Nothing ever goes according to plan so of course it backfired and now he's being shoved back in his room again. “Dressed? Dressed in what? I don't have anything to wear.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, 'what do I mean?' You just expect me to randomly have a tux picked, pressed, and ready for an event that I didn't even know I was invited to? What the heck is this event anyway?”
“Reed's presenting his theory on damage control to all of our peers at Stark's Tower-- Johnny, I told you about this last week!”
“Well, it's another one of Reed's boring lectures, no wonder I didn't remember,” Johnny mutters to himself.
“Johnny!” Sue scolds, her blue eyes identical to his own, tearing him apart. The tone of her voice is no different than the one she uses to yell at the kids and okay now he's getting a tiny bit angry.
“Well, excuse me for not remembering something you told me last week. Why couldn't you have just reminded me?” It's hard to keep his volume leveled when he's fighting the incredible urge to yell at her until her ears bleed, so it comes off a bit too loud and rude for her liking and she isn't shy in letting him know so.
“Watch yourself." She warns. "I tried calling you last night and this morning and seriously, Johnny, why do you even have a cell if you never intend to actually use it?” Her voice turned into that annoying motherly tone again that he hates oh so much.
“Well, I didn't have it on me,” he whines.
“That's why we keep telling you to leave your communicator on.” Johnny's eyes drift away. “Or you didn't have that on you either?”
“Sue, please." He's afraid to look her directly in the eye. Afraid she'll see all the pent up anger boiling over behind them and doesn't wish to find out what's actually in-store for him in the afterlife just yet. So he picks the safer route for the both of them and shows her his hand instead. "Spare me the lecture, would ya? I gotta figure this out.”
“Why don't you just throw on one of your old suits you wore at--”
Johnny cuts her off before she can finish. “Please, Sue, I'd rather be dead than be labeled an outfit repeater.”
“Fine." She crossed her arms, the shawl intertwined around them like a vine on a tree branch. "Then you can borrow one of Reed's.”
Reed waits behind Sue in the doorway now, re-aligning one of his cuffs, wearing a well-fitted gray suit from what Johnny can easily distinguish as one from Versace's last season collection. Has Reed ever heard of the term ‘so last season'? Because that's exactly what that is. Just standing next to him would be an embarrassment.
“Uh...yeah. No thanks.”
“Johnny--”
“Look, why don't you guys just go on without me. I'll meet you there, okay?”
Susan's hesitant to leave the doorway, but thankfully Reed's there to usher her away, offering Johnny a sympathetic smile and a firm pat on the shoulder for reassurance. “Johnny, don't be too late.”
“Yeah, yeah, Reed. Don't worry. I'll be there.” Johnny waved them off and stuck his tongue out at Ben.
✧✧✧
Okay. This is the worst idea ever! Never, ever, ever again will Johnny Storm buy a $3,000 tuxedo from off the shelf. It's itchy, cheap and doesn't even fit him right. The damn collar is practically choking him to death and he feels like the sleeves are a bit too short. Ugh. This is exactly the reason why he gets all of his suits custom tailored. Oh god, he just hopes there aren't that many paps outside because he really doesn't want to be seen wearing this dreadful thing.
His shiny black limo pulls up to Stark Tower and the flashing lights are blinding. He was an idiot to even think the fuss would calm down. This is Tony fricking Stark we're talking about here.
As soon as he steps out onto the red carpet (seriously, Stark? A red carpet?) all he sees is white flashing lights. If he wasn't used to this by now, he'd probably be on the ground with epilepsy or something.
“It's the Human Torch!”
“Over here!”
“Johnny Storm!!”
One headache after another. Oh, here we go.
✧✧✧
The place is packed with nearly every superhero in town and it's been almost a half an hour now and Johnny still hasn't come across a familiar face. Where the hell is Reed, Sue, and Ben? This dude Danny Rand has been talkin' his ear off for the past fifteen minutes. Johnny has no idea who the hell this guy is but apparently he's some kind of superhero. Stark really should've made everyone come in costume because how the hell is he suppose to recognize these B-Listers?
The conversation's going absolutely nowhere with this guy and Johnny's pretty sure he died of boredom, like, five minutes ago and now he's just a walking zombie. He might as well be talking to Reed because his interest level just fell from a zero to a negative gazillion. In predicaments like this he has to actually remind himself to smile, nod, and maybe even throw in a little laugh every now and then. With a little extra effort, perhaps he could make it sound authentic. It's only common courtesy.
The Rand guy's in the middle of blabbing about something Johnny doesn't even know what, when suddenly a female's voice calls after him, “Johnny? Johnny Storm?”
Johnny turns around and, great, now who the hell is this lady?
Her arms wrap around his, “Do you mind if I steal him away from you, Danny?,” and then she's dragging him off to some secluded part of the Tower.
Okay, so his liberation came in the form of a brown haired woman with a killer bod and sexy, red, luscious lips. He really shouldn't complain but the whole foreignity of it all was just scraping at the edge of his nerves.
Little Miss Sexy Red Lips sat down and pulled him down beside her on the only piece of furniture in the small, suffocating, dim lit room. No doubt probably the most expensive couch he's ever had the opportunity to grace his ass with.
A small breeze creeps in from the balcony and she leans close to him. “Mmmmm” she hums, head resting on his shoulder. “You're so warm.”
He could feel his own body heat rising uncontrollably. (C'mon, if you seen this lady's rack you'd be squirming in your seat too.)
Her fingers walk up the length of his leg toward his crotch, “You're probably wondering who I am.”
At this point, Johnny's pretty sure it doesn't even matter because that tiny little tight dress is just leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
“It's Doreen. Doreen Green.”
She says it so seductively as if it's suppose to ring a bell or something. He doesn't even try to figure her out, the only thing he's trying to figure out is how to get her out of that dress.
“You're really handsome,” Little Miss Sexy Red Lips tells him, her fingertips dragging along the base of his jawline.
Oh man, this lady's a real tease. And she so totally wants it.
He murmurs in agreement, making his move. Her luscious red lips pucker up just before he pulls her in, slams his face into hers, and it's a big ol' sloppy kiss. Lips, tongues, and hands were everywhere.
After fussing with the back zipper of her scandalous attire for far longer than he should have, his hand blindly slides underneath her hiked up dress and disappears between her welcoming legs. She lets out the sexiest moan he has ever heard it makes him want to strip off all his clothes before he explodes and makes a mess all over himself and this ugly ass suit. Her short hair brushes against his cheeks as he gets lost in her sexy red lips and pink tongue as sweet as candy, when suddenly he feels something on his shoulder. Her hand?
Her body arches as she guides his fingers deeper between her thighs and she throws her head back and lets loose this tiny little whimper that makes Johnny swoon. His fingers work her as his chin nudges off her strap to get a peek at those perky little tits, and then something furry brushes against his ear and that's it, he's so sure that was not her hand.
He jumps up all rattled, shaking himself off like a lunatic. “What the f--?”
“Quiet down, you're going to scare him,” Little Miss Sexy Red Lips says, cradling a tiny squirrel in her hands.
Oh no. Oh nonononono—Little Miss Sexy Red Lips is--? No. She can't be!
A dozen more squirrels run in through the balcony, surrounding Little Miss Sexy Red Lips.
“Oh my god!” Johnny points at her in horror. “You're Squirrel Girl!”
Little Miss Sexy Red Lips smiles with her sexy red lips and Johnny runs out of there so fast he nearly bumps into a big furry blue guy and some really hairy short guy--”Watch where ya goin', Bub, unless ya wanna get gutted one!” --who apparently has a really bad attitude.
Figures. Buncha B-Listers.
This party, event, or whatever this gig is, it officially bites. If anyone, ANYONE finds out that he almost hooked up with Squirrel Girl, he'll never, ever live it down. Never! He'll be the laughingstock of the Superhuman community for years to come and he won't be able to take that. He's gotta get out of here. He's trying to find the frickin' exit when an irritating, unmistakable voice calls for his attention.
“Johnny! Johnny, over here!” Susan beckons to him and he drags his feet over to her and he wants to yell at her because his sister's timing is terrible. Can't she see he's in the middle of an ego-threatening crisis here?
“What?” he asks, not even bothering to eradicate the hint of annoyance that rang in his tone.
“What's with the attitude?”
Johnny shrugs passively. “Nothing.”
“Fix yourself, you look like a mess!” Sue dusts absent dirt from his shoulder and yanks at his clothes, trying to smooth it out. “When did you get here? You missed Reed's presentation.”
“Thank god,” Johnny quietly sighs with the kind of relief that usually follows a successful Dr. Doom take-down. “I got here about a half-hour ago.”
“What took you so long?”
“What do you think, Sue? I went lookin' around for a tux, but it was so hard for me to choose since they were all so horrible.”
Sue tugs on his sleeve, overlooking him from head to toe. “This one's not bad.”
“Whatever, Sue.” Johnny rolls his eyes, trying to distance himself from the conversation.
"Hmm." Sue hums suddenly and questioningly, eyes narrowing with a tilted head as if she's inspecting him. “Why's your mouth all red?" When the realization hits her seconds later, her eyes pop open to their full extent. Even before the words leave her mouth, he can already feel her fingers creeping up to his neck trying to strangle him to death. "Johnny, is that lipstick?!”
“Fuck!” Johnny gasps, turning away and wiping his mouth, examining his hand for any residue. A waxy smear of red covered his fingers and he winced at the sight of it.
“Johnny, don't you dare do any of that stuff here, don't you embarrass me.” Sue whispers in that annoying, degrading tone that makes him want to shove a sock in her mouth.
Johnny only turns away in silence, feeling a raging urge to come to his own defense but ultimately sides against it in exchange for swiping and chugging down a glass of champagne from one of the waiter's trays passing by. “Imma'bout to get outta here anyways, this place's way too formal and boring for my taste.”
Sue grabs his arm and squeezes gently. “Don't leave yet. I think Stark's going to give a toast or something.”
Johnny snatches another glass of champagne before the sexy waitress could pass him by. “Fine. Whatever. Where's Ben?”
“He's somewhere around here—Oh hey, Jan!”
Janet's hips sway and her heels go clickety-clack as she strides up with her sparkly little dress so bright it's gonna give Johnny his third headache for the night. “Hey, Sue. Johnny. How are things? I heard there was another attack at the Baxter Building? Are the kids okay?”
“Everyone's fine, thanks for asking.” Great, while Sue's talking to her he's gotta get outta here and quick because if you stand here for too long you're pretty much stuck as the third wheel and hell no is he about to let that happen. He quickly scans over the crowd, frantically searching for Ben, but where the hell is that walking talking neanderthal?
“So, Johnny...”
Shit. Fuck. Now he's gotta talk to her. “...How are things with...what was her name again? The one with the hair and the dog?”
Who the hell is she talkin' about-- “Oh, Crystal? That was so two months ago.” Geez lady don't you ever read the newspaper or even turn on the TV?
“Oh,” she rubs his arm with this fraudulent look of sadness, “I'm sorry to hear it.”
Yeah, and he's sorry she brought it up. What the heck is wrong with this lady? He's gotta find Ben and quick. He's looking everywhere and he finally spots the heap of rocks over in the corner talking to that scruffy short dude Johnny nearly crashed into earlier. No wonder he couldn't find him. The big ape is over there blending in with the friggin' wall!
“So, Susan...” Janet's turned her attention over to his sister again and that's his cue to go. He slips away into the crowd making his way over to Benjy-Boy when he spots She-Hulk looking oh-so sexy in her tight little black dress, sporting a v-plunge deeper than Jenna Jamenson's throat. He nearly breaks his neck trying to catch a glimpse because jugs like that are worthy of any man's attention. Perhaps a closer look would—OOF
“Hey, watch where ya—Pete?”
Yup. It's definitely Peter Parker. He looks...well, there's no way to put it nicely...he looks like shit. Seriously though, his whole get-up looked like leftovers from an Old Navy's 50% off sale. Even his hair, poking up in every single direction, looked as if he just rolled out of bed and didn't even attempt to put a damn comb to it. And don't even get him started on that tie. It was so horrible Johnny could literally feel the sting of secondhand embarrassment settling on his skin.
“Stop staring at me like that, okay? You would look like this too if you were rushing over here after getting dressed in a back alley because two low-life teenagers thought it would be a good idea to rob a bank on the way over here.” Peter hissed, trying to keep his voice low but ultimately failing to do so.
Johnny threw up his hands in protest. “Hey, I wasn't judgin'.”
“Shut up.” Peter mumbled, knowing his friend too well to know exactly what was going on in that materialistic mind of his. After all, Johnny Storm wasn't exactly a closed book.
“All right. All right. I'm sorry.” Johnny attempts to sound sincere, although he wasn't entirely sure if his friend was very deserving of it because coming here looking like that, Peter was pretty much asking for it.
Then Johnny scrunches up his nose. “Could you at least do something with that hair?” If Peter was going to stand next to him, one of the most famous and most handsome superheroes around, then he better at least look somewhat decent.
The brunette's face flushed with...what was that? Embarrassment? Annoyance? Whatever, at least he was doing something with that bird's nest.
Peter's fingers go through it once. Then twice. And a third time. All to no avail. It's a virtual mess.
Peter huffs in frustration, eyes shooting up to his hairline. “Argh, I've been trying all night but it's, like, stuck like this! The mask does stuff to it, leaving me with a permanent bed head!”
Johnny looks him over and sucks in air between his teeth, “Yikes.”
Peter slouches with an unamused glare. “You're not helping.”
“Look, what if I just throw some spit in it.”
Johnny tries to get near him but Peter ducks his head and hops away with his Spider reflexes. “Don't you dare spit in my hair!”
“Fine! Look stupid!” Johnny scoffs. “What are you even doing here anyway? No one even knows who you are.”
“Stark invited me.”
“Yeah, but he invited superheroes.” He says the last bit mockingly. “No one knows you're you-know-who.”
Peter pulls out this tiny, really expensive looking camera out of his side pocket (no doubt one of Stark's technologies). “You see, Storm, when people ask, I'm just the guy here for good press.” The smile on his face was so self-righteous Johnny wanted to punch him in it. But in a loving way, of course.
“Or just the really goofy guy who doesn't know how to dress for these kind of occasions,” Johnny retorts with his own little self-righteous smile that made Peter's fade to dust.
“I am human you know,” Peter tells him, shooting him this blank stare. “I have feelings.”
“Not with that outfit you don't.” Johnny smooths it over with a wink, downs his glass of champagne and practically throws it onto one of the trays whizzing by.
“Whatever,” Peter rolls his eyes. “Where's Dr. Richards? I wanted to apologize for arriving late in the middle of his presentation.”
Johnny eyes him suspiciously. “Yeah, right. You just wanna geek out about science and all that other smart people crap with him.”
“That, too.” Peter confesses, unable to suppress that lazy smile of his. “Did you hear his theory on--?”
Johnny holds up a flamed hand, because if Peter's going to stand here and talk about science then there better be a bed or a couch or something he could doze off on nearby, otherwise he just ain't having it. “I came two hours late for a reason, Pete. So, spare me the details. And, no, I don't know where he is. I don't know where anyone is. And I don't know who half of these people are.”
Peter's brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about? You know all these people here.”
Johnny's about to respond when suddenly a hand resting on his shoulder pulls his attention. “Hello, Jonathan.”
He turns around to find some mid-forties lookin' white dude confidently sporting that 1980's pre-sober Tony Stark mustache, and a nicely cut beard, topped off with neatly slicked back slightly grayed hair that kinda made him look like one of those blood-sucking vampires who shouldn't be around this many people this late at night. Basically, all in all, who is this guy?
“You're doing well, I presume?” The weird old guy asks politely.
“Uh...yeah...” Johnny shoots him this weird look that reads 'do I know you' and the guy takes the hint and scurries along.
Once the weird guy's out of sight, Johnny whispers over to Peter, “Who the hell was that?”
“That was Doctor Strange,” Peter informs him rather dully.
“See! How was I supposed to recognize him without his cape?!!”
Just then everyone starts filing into another room and Johnny thinks it's about the toast thing Sue was telling him about earlier so he grabs Peter's arm following the crowd, “Sit with me. I don't care if you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster, I'll look so stupid if I sit there by myself with no one to talk to.”
“Oh, how kind of you,” Peter mutters, allowing himself to be dragged along, nearly tripping on his own feet and almost taking Johnny down with him.
“Dude, you are so embarrassing,” Johnny laughs.
“Shut up, you idiot. And stop pulling me so hard.”
After lots of bumping and pushing into each other they finally get into the room and once the crowd clears out a bit, holy smokes the place was humongous! There was one large long table with chairs enough to fit all 250 guests, well if he was estimating right. About 25 sparkly chandeliers that undoubtedly cost about two arms and two legs and maybe a couple of fingers each, hung above one after the other, shining down and glimmering across the length of the table. Everyone was grabbing seats and it looked like a game of musical chairs.
Johnny yanks Peter quickly towards a chair near She-Hulk because who wouldn't want to sit next to a chick with tits the size of bowling balls, it's like scoring the front row seats at the Super Bowl. But Ben and his rocky ass gets there first and Johnny has to shove Peter back before they look like two idiots trying to go for a seat that's already taken. “Ouch, you flaming idiot, you stepped on my foot!!”
Johnny spots another two available seats next to...some blonde girl. He can't remember her name, let alone who she is, but she looks familiar. And she's hot so that's a plus. He has to hurry before some other lame-o steals it away and so he's rushing over and pulls Peter's arm so hard he yelps. “What are you trying to do? Detach it?”
“I'm trying to get us some good seats,” Johnny bites out. But it's too late. That Rand guy plops down on the seat that had Johnny's name written all over it. You know, he's really starting to hate that guy.
“Over there!” Peter points out two empty, unclaimed chairs and it's like Thor's daddy answered his prayers. But why'd it have to be all the way on the other side of the room? Still gripping onto Peter's arm for dear life for whatever reason, the two run at the speed of light, and Johnny's just about ready to flame on when he sees Janet and her husband Pym (Johnny's seen Pym working with Reed in his lab way too many times to not recognize the guy) eyeing the two chairs. The game was so on!
They're rushing and rushing, but Janet and Pym inch closer and Johnny panics, “Oh god! Oh god!! We're not going to make it in time!! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“I got this!” Peter shouts, and just like that, with the flick of two fingers to the palm of his hand, Pym and Janet were stuck to the floor.
The two settle in the chairs, peer over their shoulders and snicker victoriously.
“Oh man, I feel so evil right now,” Peter whispers, a hand shielding his wide grin.
“I know! Is this how super villains feel, ya know, two minutes before they get their asses handed to 'em?"
They cover their mouths trying to muffle their laughter when they hear Janet and Pym complaining, “Damn it, Hank, what the hell did we step in this time?!”
Johnny bumps Peter's shoulder with his own. “How long's that stuff supposed to hold?”
“The webbing? Oh, I gave them a low dosage. It should be off in about five seconds from now.”
Peter's still giggling when Johnny takes a moment to view his surroundings. There's a blue guy who suddenly appears in the seat to his right out of nowhere leaving a bunch of purple smoke everywhere that almost had Johnny coughing his lungs out when he accidentally inhaled some of it (which Johnny found extremely rude anyways because, hello, you can't just go around dousing people in your purple fog thing that has a weird stank to it and is probably not even good for the environment. Like we don't have enough pollution as it is. And, who knows, it could be cancerous). The blue dude settles down nice and quietly with his long devil tail poking out behind him and placed on the table his three fingered hands covered in fur that looked so soft Johnny almost dared petting it.
Across from Johnny is that scruffy short guy with the bad attitude, who snarls at him when he stares at him for too long. Next to the short hairy dude sits that other big blue furball. (Seriously, what's with all these blue people? It's like they joined the lunch room table with all the rejects). And next to Peter there's Storm. Of course the hot chick's gotta sit next to Mr. Disaster. He's so pissed right now, he wants to run over there and push Ben out of his seat. He hopes his chair breaks.
Tony clings his glass, and Peter pokes Johnny out of his trance. Standing tall all the way on the end of the table, Tony speaks loud and clearly, “Hello, everyone. I am glad you could all make it.” Johnny pretty much drowns him out after that and starts making faces at Peter until he can't hold a straight face anymore. “Stop it,” Peter tries to slap him on the arm, “You're gonna get me in trouble, you idiot.”
Johnny pushes him back whispering, “Then stop laughing, stupid.”
Stark's in the middle of his toast and that's when Johnny spots her. Four chairs down across from him. Little Miss Sexy Red Li—no, he means Squirrel Girl. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. She's just about to look his way when he slides off his seat and slinks away under the table.
“Johnny, you okay?” Peter's hand reaches down, searching blindly for him and Johnny swats his hand away as if it were a fly.
“What are you doing? Get up here.” Peter's hands were still trying to grab at him and when Johnny tries to get away he accidentally thuds his head hard up against the bottom ceiling of the table. “Ow!” The dishes above rattle and the room falls silent. Everyone looks to the source, only to find an empty seat and Peter's face blushing a furious bright red.
“Get up here, Johnny,” he says lowly and as inconspicuously as possible through a locked jaw. Peter thought he heard a faint protest and tugs at his collar, forcing him up. Swallowing hard, Johnny rises with a low, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He figured that maybe if he rubbed it hard enough the genie from Aladdin would pop out, give him three wishes and he'll wish himself out of here and onto some beach in Miami where he'll party past midnight and drink himself drunk until he passes out with a bunch of random girls on a huge pile of money as one last big hurrah. And then he'll leave all this behind, retire from his superheroic life of luxury, change his name and run off to pursue the simple, boring life of a fisherman. And it's not until he's on his death bed surrounded by all his fish friends, and a very angry Namorita, that he'll realize he had two wishes left the whole time.
It's a bit of a shame, but of course that's not gonna happen. The slippery sweat between his palm and the skin on his neck tells him so. As do the many glares prodding every pore on his face right now.
So he accepts his fate with an imaginary roll of eyes and a muted groan of disappointment. He takes a moment and then clears his throat, takes a really deep breath and tries not to look anyone in the eye (because they can't sense your fear that way).
“Heh, I was just uh—uh...” Johnny swipes the napkin from Peter's lap. “Getting my napkin! Yeah...just gettin' this..." he whips it around some before eyeing the cloth dubiously, “...thing.”
Johnny can hear Ben chuckling all the way on the other side of the table and Peter tugs on his sleeve to get him to sit down and saves him from making an even bigger fool of himself. “Sorry for the disruption, everyone. Stark, feel free to, uh, continue.”
Once Tony starts talking again Peter turns to Johnny impatiently. “What the hell was that?”
Johnny hides his face in the napkin. “Oh god. She's lookin' over here again.” Peter snatches the napkin and Johnny's just left with his hands. He peeks through his fingers. “Shit, shit, shit. Shit, fuck, shit.”
“What?”
“Fuck.”
Peter grabs his hands, demanding answers. “Johnny, what are you talking about?”
Someone nearby shushes them and Johnny wants to fall apart and melt in his seat. Peter's the only thing holding him together right now, still begging with his stupid puppy-dog-like eyes, and so maybe it was the dumb sense of obligation that made him do so when he did it in the end and not just the dread of being harassed until he did. Either way, Johnny leaned in real close, “You have to promise not to tell anyone. And I mean anyone, Peter.”
“Geez, what'd you do, break into Tony's vault and hit on his girlfriend?” Peter muffled a snicker but Johnny's stone-faced stare refused to falter. This was serious business, no laughing matter, and Peter seemed to have gotten that when he grabbed at him with an unrelenting death grip on his shoulder (that actually kinda hurt a little) when Johnny had zipped his lips and fixed himself the other way.
“Okay. Okay.” Peter places one hand over his heart and raises the other, “Scout's honor.”
Johnny rips his hand from his chest, “Don't gimme any of that Scout's bullshit. Pinky promise me.”
“Seriously? Alright, fine. Whatever.” Their pinkies braided together in a bond of which Johnny could only hope Peter would keep his word to.
He relaxed in his chair, the hard wood on his back slowly sinking its way through his layers of clothing and beneath his skin, and for once let Stark's pretentious speech carry the conversation for him as the quietude of his anticipated words settled between them just long enough for Johnny to properly prepare himself to drop the biggest atomic bomb since... well, that other atomic bomb incident thing he vaguely remembers reading about in High School. Which, in his particular case, isn't exactly an easy thing to do. Especially since this kind of information wouldn't be catastrophically humiliating to anyone else but himself (which, in a way, maybe kinda sorta defeats the whole purpose of calling it the biggest atomic bomb ever but whatever). The point is, this could very well mean the ending of his super hero career as he knows it and how the hell do you prepare for that? Not that he doesn't trust Peter but, c'mon, everyone knows he's a blabber mouth who'll probably 'accidentally' blab all about it to his Avengers buddies on some windy, rainy day when they're all stuck inside playing truth and dare and spin the bottle like a bunch of bi-curious teenagers pretending they don't all got the hots for one another. That alone made him consider backing out of it and if it weren't for the pinky promise he probably would. But he can't because even though technically Peter would be keeping to his word if he did, it would be cheating the pinky promise system and that's against the rules. A pinky promise is a pinky promise and Johnny Storm never breaks pinky promises. Just ask Franklin and Val, they'd tell you the same thing.
If the shaking of his leg was any sign of it, apparently Peter wasn't as good at keeping his impatience in check as he likes to think he is. It's making Johnny even more anxious and he thought about making him suffer a little more just because of it. He dragged it out 7 seconds longer only to come to the conclusion that it was also pro-longing his own torture. And so when he takes a deep refreshing breath of air, finally ready to get it over with, a blonde hottie not too far away takes it as a sign of boredom and fixes him with the stink eye. He tries to win her over with his best smile but that's when she sticks up her nose and that's when he remembers who she is. Carol Danvers aka Ms. Marvel aka The sexy snotty type who no one is ever any good for. God, she's hot. He sees Rand sitting next to her looking all cozy in his chair and Johnny recalls how that was supposed to be his seat before he practically stole it right from under him. Damn, he really, really hates that guy.
"Johnny, how long am I gonna have to wait? Just tell me already." Peter was knocking elbows with him sounding about desperate enough to shake it right out of him. And lucky for him, Johnny's already reeling from a strong mixture of rejection, humiliation and pure annoyance that he doesn't even put up a fight about it. He didn't even bother to look at him. Didn't even take a deep breath this time either. He just sort of quietly fell forward so he could drop his head down in defeat, his forehead uncomfortably cradling along the ceramic surface of the empty plate, and braced himself for it when he said in his lowest of voices: "I almost slept with Squirrel Girl."
“What? I couldn't hear you.”
Johnny repeats it again in another muffle of a mumble.
Peter leans close, “What are you saying?”
He says it again, this time just a little bit louder.
Peter leans closer, almost half-way off his seat, “Huh?”
Johnny popped up. “I ALMOST SLEPT WITH SQUIRREL GIRL! WHAT ARE YOU, DEAF?”
Peter goes bug-eyed in shock and Johnny turns into Ice-Man, freezing in motion. Suddenly it was like they could hear a pin drop. When Peter's nut-brown orbs dart to the corner of his lids Johnny slowly follows his gaze. All 250 pairs of eyes are on him. He can feel it, and all he wants to do is hide under the table again. A rush of heat flows through him. Not the kind that's generated by his powers. But more like the “Imma'bout to shit my pants” kind. This is all Peter's fault. Peter and his deaf fucking ears.
Think, think, Johnny. Think of something quick. “Uh...I meant...where's the bathroom?”
Stark stares at him blankly and pokes the air to his left, eyes unmoving.
Johnny gets up with his jello legs and it feels like the walk of shame. It's so awkward he wants to collapse into a pile of dust and just float away out the window. It's the most embarrassing thing in the world. Stupid fucking Peter.
As he passes by everyone, and it's a real long walk because the damn table's a million and a half years long, he sees Sue and Reed. Nothing but surprised and disappointed faces. Much like everybody else's. Oh god is there, by any chance, a rock nearby that he can crawl under? Where's Ben when you need him?
Once he's out of the lime light, he swears every word in the book and hides next to a big potted plant and slumps against a wall. What a fuck-up that was. Couldn't get any worse than that! He slides down the wall, holding his head in his hands. Now would be a really good time to die. Yeah, he'd be totally fine with that. He always thought it would be nicer to die in his sleep, but a heart attack doesn't sound too bad right about now.
He almost gets his wish and nearly has a fucking heart attack right then and there when a voice calls out to him from above. When he looks up and finds Peter crawling down towards him, he releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding.
“Geez, you almost scared the shit outta me!”
Peter slid down the wall with his impressive spider-like innate ability. “Sorry.” He slouched down beside him with a curved back, elbows resting on his bony knees and hands hanging forward, his hair looking ridiculous as ever, and Johnny can't help but to laugh. This dude's gotta have some serious self-confidence to walk around looking like that.
“What?” Peter cracks a weary smile. “What's so funny?”
“Nothin'” Johnny says trying to sound mean because he's suppose to be mad at him right now but Peter looks so stupid he can't wipe the stupid smirk off his face.
“You're laughing at my hair, aren't you?”
Johnny nods his head, still trying to pull off an angry look but failing.
“I'm sorry” Peter tells him. “That was pretty embarrassing, huh?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” comes the response. “Also, I got some really bad news for you.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“You need hearing aids.” Johnny says dryly.
“No, I don't.”
“You're deaf as fuck, Pete.”
Peter picks at his unruly hair, “Whatever." Then he's pointing his chin over his shoulder, "Are you mad at me?”
Johnny looks at him through the side of his eye, trying his hardest to mimic Sue's death stare. He's not sure if he's doing it right so he just huffs. “I'm trying to to be. So shut up and let me be mad at you.”
“Okay.” Peter drops his head.
“......”
“You done yet?”
“Almost.”
“......”
“......”
“......”
“Okay. I'm done.”
Johnny flings his head back against the wall with a bang and throws his fingers in his hair, scratching it about. Peter watches him for awhile and then, “Hey, you wanna get outta here?”
Johnny sighed, “I thought you'd never ask.”
Peter was about to head for the front entrance, but Johnny yanked him back. “No, you idiot, there's so many paparazzi out there. I don't wanna be caught next to you looking like this. Let's head this way.”
Peter follows Johnny, even though it's clear he has no idea where he's going. After a few 'Nope not this way's', Peter finally began to question, “Do you even know where you're going?”
“Maybe. I don't know. You're the Avenger, so you tell me.”
“Well, I've never really been through the whole Tower, I just kinda follow Stark around and pretend like I know what I'm doing.”
“You're hopeless,” Johnny scoffed.
After a lot of wrong turns and opening wrong doors, they finally gave up and looked for a room with any sort of opening. They eventually find the same room Johnny had his little short lived fling with Little Miss Sexy Red Lips. They hop down from high up on the balcony and onto the sidewalk and Johnny presses how he just wants to get out of Manhattan.
“My place?” Peter offers after a few of Johnny's not-so-subtle hints.
“You got anything good over there?” Johnny asks.
“I mean, I got a couple of movies--”
“Alright, whatever. Deal.”
Peter says he'll suit up so he could swing home, “It's not that far from here.”
“And what am I gonna do?” Johnny pinches the collar of his shirt, “This thing isn't exactly fireproof, Pete. And no way am I gonna let you carry me there.”
He ends up hailing a cab and shoving Peter in before he could protest. When they finally got there he flings a bunch of cash at the driver's face before exiting, “Don't think I don't know you took the long way on purpose, dude.”
Peter was about to walk up to his apartment building when Johnny grabbed at his arm, melting to the ground in agonizing pain. “I'm sooooo hungry, I'm gonna vomit!” It was an over-exaggeration, but whatever, it did the trick.
“Fine, there's a burger place down the block.”
✧✧✧
Peter leaned over the unsteady table, his weight shifting the balance unevenly in his direction. “Stop picking at it and eat it, Johnny. Stop acting like you never ate fast food before.”
“I never ate fast food from here before.” Johnny stuck his tongue out as he disassembled his burger, clamped the patty between his fingertips. “Yuck. Is this under-cooked?”
The whole place was a mess and it looked like it was erected from the Mole Man's lair. The foam was pouring out of the uncomfortable flat cushions on the seats. The table stunk like it was washed with dirty rags. He bets rats live in the garbage can because every now and then he hears a little bustling and he swears there's something in there. Ugh, it made him want to puke.
He flung the patty at the wall. “It's disgusting.”
“Johnny!” Peter ducked low, hoping the hard-working employees of the fast-food restaurant didn't see. “What are you doing? You can't just do that!”
“I just did. Besides, it's not like anyone would even notice." He pushed forward with a pointed finger, "Did you see that fish fillet in the corner over there? It has green stuff all over it. I bet it's been there for months.”
Peter stiffened, staring at the moldy slab and then looking down at his own half-eaten burger, and suddenly looks like he wants to heave all over the table. “I never seen that there before. That's really nasty. Point taken, let's get out of here.”
✧✧✧
“Oh my god!! Why are there so many stairs??!!” Johnny waits at the bottom of the stair case, trying to catch his breath. “This...is... so cruel. Why couldn't we take the elevator?!”
Peter peers down at him over the railing from two flights up. “The elevator's been out of order for five years!”
“OH MY GOD!!!”
Peter laughs, “C'mon, Mr. Lazypants, we got six more flights to go!”
“OHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDD!!!”
✧✧✧
When Peter finally reaches the top, he's waiting outside his door for a little more than five minutes before Johnny could join him. He busts through the door and drops onto Peter's dingy couch, completely exhausted. “I feel so bad for you, man. You gotta do that everyday.”
Peter locks up and knocks Johnny's legs off to the side, plopping down beside him, saying, “It's not that bad.”
“Whatever. You probably have legs of steel by now!”
Johnny starts kicking off his shoes and peeling off his suit, “Gimme some clothes. No way am I sitting in this itchy thing all night.”
Peter's eyes went to the ceiling as he got up with a big huff. “All right. Fine. Be right back.”
Johnny laid almost completely nude, sprawled out on the ratty green couch as if he owned the damned thing. Looking it over, Peter's apartment was almost as bad as his hair. There were random pieces of clothing laying around in the most random of places. It was small, not too smelly although it did have a little funk to it. Or maybe it was this god awful couch. He sniffed it and yup, yup it was definitely the couch. Dishes were piled in the sink sky high and there was literally only one box of cereal on top of the fridge. The rug could really use a good vacuuming. And that TV looked so ancient, does it even work? And wait was that a VHS player on top of it? Do they even make those anymore? Does Peter have any idea what century they live in? Actually what in the literal heck was taking Peter so long?
Johnny crept into Peter's room and whoa he thought the living room was a mess. This place looked like a hurricane hit it. Dirty laundry stacked way past the basket's limit, and even with the mountain so high he still put the cover on top. Eh, A+ for effort. The pillows were as flat as Paris Hilton's ass, the sheets and blankets on his bed were hanging halfway on the floor. His Spidey costume pieces where everywhere. On his bed, on his lamp shade, on the floor...wow and to think Sue yells at him for his room, well she would just go absolutely ballistic on Peter.
Peter, dressed up in a fresh t-shirt and gray sweatpants, rummages through his closest unaware of the intrusion. Johnny sneaks up behind him, and moves back and forth with Peter's every movement, trying to peer over his shoulder.
Peter catches him after a while, slowly turning around in this horrid shock of disbelief. “Hey, what are you doing in here? A lil' privacy?”
Johnny's still trying to get a good look at the clothes in his closet. “Hey, lemme choose!”
“What? No! Get away!” Peter holds out his arms, attempting to block the entrance but when Johnny tries to shove him off to the side Peter nearly falls into the closet, knocking his elbow on the door frame right on his funny bone. “Ow! You idiot!”
“Aw, c'mon, Pete. It's the least you can do! You embarrassed me today!”
Johnny guilted him with his Oscar worthy performance of real emotional hurt and Peter, tired of all the fussing, gives in rather quickly. “Alright. Fine!” He shoves Johnny in front of the closet for revenge, hoping he'd fall in. “And for the record, I didn't embarrass you, you embarrassed yourself.”
Wired hangers slide and slap together as Johnny goes through every piece of clothing Peter owned. White shirt, red shirt, blue shirt, orange shirt (he's pretty sure Dr. Seuss wrote a book about this). Everything was the same cheap plain shirt in different colors.
“Actually, we embarrassed each other–- Hey, this is a nice shirt!” Johnny yanked out probably the only shirt of variety Peter owned. It had a cool lightening strike going across it with Thor's hammer at the center.
“NO!” Peter reaches out to snatch it too late. “That's a brand new shirt. It cost twenty bucks!”
“Twenty bucks? That's nothing.” He could hear Peter mumble, “Yeah, maybe to you,” but he ignores him and shoves it onto his bare body. It's super tight, defining his every muscle (and kinda hard to breathe in too).
He peers down upon himself and laughs. “Where do you shop, in the boy's section?”
“You're stretching it out,” Peter says with lazy eyes.
“Alright, fine, if you're gonna pout about it..." Johnny plucks it off his body and flings it in Peter's direction where it just happens to land on his head. "Just find me something else,” he says, putting all the attitude he has in to it.
Peter yanks it off his head and throws it back at him, “Fine. If you're gonna pout about it then you can take it!”
“I don't want it!”
“Well neither do I!”
The shirt's flung back and forth and back and forth until Johnny aims it in the wrong direction and it wraps around the lamp shade. And then it's a stare down and Johnny's the first one to crack.
Peter stands there all annoyed. “Stop laughing at my hair already, you idiot!”
“It looks so dumb!!” Johnny wipes the tears from his eyes. Peter groans, goes back to his closet, and then he's throwing a plain red shirt over his shoulder and a pair of blue sweatpants he randomly pulled from his draw.
“Shut up already and put those on.”
Johnny's hopping into the pants and calling after him when Peter's leaving the room. “Seriously, dude!! Your hair!!”
“Shut up!” Peter screamed from the hallway.
Once fully dressed, Johnny joins Peter on his smelly couch, rubbing his muscly abs. “I'm still hungry, you know. Got any of that cereal left?”
Peter glared at him and Johnny beamed, reveling in his vexation. “Empty. So's the fridge. There's food in the kitchen though. Somewhere.”
“What the hell do you eat around here then?
Peter shrugs, “I mostly just eat out. You can check the cabinets.”
Johnny rushes over and starts digging through his cabinets. There's a whole lot of empty, never used rubber-maids in most of them and then a bunch of expired bags of raisins in another. He has to stand on top of the counter to dig through the ones on top. He opens one of the creaky cabinets and jumps off to the side because holy shit a ton of pots and pans fall out crashing onto the kitchen floor and Peter jumps up all frantic. “What the hell was that?!”
He runs into the kitchen and this deathly look of anger is all over his face. “What the hell are you doing up there? Why are you opening that one?!”
Johnny's all flustered for words. “Well, I-I'm sorry! You didn't tell me some were off limits.”
“Get down!” Peter hisses. “Look at this mess, you stupid idiot!”
Johnny jumped down. “I'll clean it.”
“NO!!” Peter catches himself and takes a deep breath, slapping his palm to his forehead, and then his arm stretched out and there was a pointed finger at the end of it. “Just go wait in there.”
From the living room on the booger-colored sofa, Johnny could hear pots and pans crashing and banging everywhere as Peter tries to stuff them back where they belong. But he could hear it's not working and then Peter's cursing and screaming Johnny's name at the top of his lungs.
“Yeah, you called?”
Peter's at the top of the counter, all frustrated, trying to hold as many pans in place as he could, “Help me, stupid! I didn't call you in here to look at your mug! Grab the stool from beside the TV.”
Johnny runs back and looks and looks but doesn't see it. “Pete, where is it?!”
“OPEN YOUR EYES AND LOOK!”
Sheesh, drop a couple of pots and his feathers are all ruffled. Searching for the stool, Johnny finally spots it hiding under a not-so-stable stack of VHS tapes that was made up mostly of classic Disney movies. He tries to move it gently. One little tug and then another and whoopsie. The whole pile goes tumbling down in one big crash, and then there's Peter's angry, booming voice carrying into the living room again, “NOW WHAT WAS THAT!!?”
Johnny flinches, kicking them into a corner. “Nothin'!”
“JOHNNY!”
He returns with the stool in hand. “Calm down, geez.”
“DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! LOOK AT THIS MESS!” The vein in Peter's neck and the blood vessel in his forehead were throbbing violently. He's super pissed.
“You're so stupid,” Peter says and Johnny frowns. He tries to be helpful and hands him a pan but he snatches it, “Give that to me!”
The whole rest of the clean-up is just Peter mumbling and snatching and then dropping everything everywhere and yelling at Johnny for all of it. It would be 20 minutes and one webbed-shut cabinet later before they would be sitting on the stinky couch again.
Johnny decided to wait a good five minutes before bringing it up again. “I'm still hungry.”
No answer, just tightly folded arms, arched dark brows and a pair of furious brown eyes staring at a black TV screen.
Johnny eyed the remote. “Well, can we at least watch some TV?”
Silence.
Fine. Sue used to do it all the time to him when they were younger so he knows how to easily crack the silent treatment. Johnny crosses his arms too and mimics Peter's face.
Peter blinked.
He blinked.
Peter sniffled.
He sniffled.
Peter scratched his head.
He scratched his head.
Johnny followed his every motion for one more full minute until Peter finally decided he's had enough. “Stop already! Why are you so ANNOYING?” Peter held up both hands and shook his tense fingers in the air as if he were going to wring his neck.
“What? I was just stretching.”
“You're copying me. Stop it.”
“Alright fine!” Johnny got up and left the couch and struts down the hallway, whistling in a manner that was particularly loud on purpose. Peter sat there unfazed for a few good moments, arms still crossed, and then suddenly chased after him.
He busted into his room and there was Johnny all wrapped up in his sheets, laying on his pillow. “Get out!”
“Shush. I'm trying to sleep.” Johnny snuggles into his pillow and faked a yawn.
“Get. OUT!” Peter ran over and seized the pillow right from under him, and Johnny's head thudded onto the rock hard mattress (which was pretty sure to satisfy his curiosity of what it would be like to get an actual clobbering in the back of the head from Ben).
Then, before Peter could grab at him, Johnny started rolling around and twisted the off-white colored sheets all around his body.
Peter was now fuming. He tucked the pillow under his arm and grabbed at the sheets, dragging and tugging Johnny along the mattress. “Get out of my bed!!”
Johnny reached up and yanked the pillow from Peter's arm and Peter grabbed the ends of it just in time. It was a tug of war. Yank. Pull. Yank. Pull. Yank. Pull. Unexpectedly, Johnny jerked the pillow hard and Peter fell forward, landing beside him. They laid there for a few moments staring up at the cracked, water-damaged ceiling paint until they looked at each other and Peter broke into a grin. He shattered into a laughing fit, humoring the whole situation, while Johnny, much to Peter's oblivion, cackled at his stupid mess of a hair.
After a while, Peter sat up, playfully smacking Johnny in the head with his pillow, “You're stupid, you know that?”
Johnny propped himself up on his elbow, situating his hair with his free hand, “Yeah, I know.”
He tries to untangle himself from the bed sheets and ends up rolling off the mattress onto the even harder floor below. “Ow, my back” he complains in a weak tone.
Peter looms down at him from the edge of the bed, ends of his hair only drooping slightly. “Well, I'm just glad you know.”
A big pout and a tilted head,“Yeah, well I just hope you know I'm still starving. You're a terrible host.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I'll find you something to eat.” And he hops off the bed and jogs away, while Johnny struggles to unwind himself from the floor.
✧✧✧
On his way, Johnny could hear Peter creaking open the cabinets again and he just prays there's no more surprises behind those cupboards. If one more pot or pan hits the floor, Peter'll probably murder him whether it was his doing or not.
Johnny, trying to help in the search, jumped up on the counter about to open a different cabinet when Peter stood up quickly. “Don't you dare open up any of those! I'll take my clothes back and push you out the window.”
“Okay, okay, fine!” He leapt down with what felt like such heroic grace, he had no idea why Peter wasn't staring at him in complete awe. “Did you find anything?”
Peter sighed and bent down, digging in one of the open bottom cabinets again. “I know I have canned food somewhere around here-- I just don't know-- Ah here it is!!”
Johnny's face melted and fell to the ground. “That's it? Canned beans? You're fucking kidding me, right?”
All these cabinets and all he finds that's actually edible is a friggin' can of beans? Who does he look like to him, Dennis the Menace? What the hell's he gonna do with beans? He really should open up that cabinet of pots again to get back at him because this is so not fair.
Peter rubbed his neck bashfully, “Well....it's all I have...It's either this or you scrape that patty off the wall of that--”
The can was snatched from his hand. “Where's the can-opener?” Johnny asked eagerly, rolling the can of beans around in his palm.
Peter shifted his weight and laughed nervously, scratching at his lower back.
“Lemme guess, you don't know where that is either.”
“I know it's around here somewhere--”
“What the hell, Pete!” Johnny is two seconds away from chucking the can at his head. He feels his stomach growl and he lifts his shirt, patting his muscle, “It's okay, buddy. I know you're hungry. If things get desperate, we'll eat Peter if we have to.”
“Shut up and look in one of these draws.” Peter begins to rummage through one of the small draws near the sink. Forks, spoons, and knives all rattling around.
He's literally one person living in this one roomed dump. Why does he have so many damn utensils? Who comes to visit him? He doesn't even own a table!
Johnny follows Peter, but to display his aggravation, he yanks the draw kind of hard, a little too hard, and it flies off its hinges and the utensils cling and clanged, spilling all over the floor. Whoops.
Peter glares at him, eyes prying into his soul.
In turn, Johnny offers a weak smile for redemption. “Accident. Total accident.”
Peter snatches up the empty draw on the floor with haste. “I AM GOING TO SMACK YOU IN THE HEAD WITH THIS!”
*--Knock—Knock—Knock--*
Peter stomps his way to the door, draw still in hand, voice threatening as ever, “If I'm in trouble, I'm really going to hit you with this thing.”
Trying to pick up all the utensils made even worse noise. Every time he tries to help, he feels like he makes the mess ten times bigger than it already was. Johnny tries shoving them all in the draw Peter was digging through, but he's dropping some along the way.
Heavy footsteps come running back, yelling in a hurried whisper. “Stop making all that noise, you stupid idiot. My landlord's out there!”
Johnny freezes mid-action, like a deer caught in the headlights.“Okay, alright” he clucked. A utensil slips from his hand, clattering into the draw amongst the others, much to Peter's irritation.
“I mean it,” he bit out and then he was gone again.
Geez, he's being such a tight ass. About every damn thing. Yeah, it's the middle of night, sure, but come on, accidents happen. For instance, look at Ben. Probably the biggest accident in the history of all accidents. And he doesn't complain nearly as much.
Johnny's trying to push the draw shut with his hip when Peter finally comes back, dark brows all arched again, lips curled in a disgruntled frown. “So, what'd he say?”
He's shoving Johnny off to the side, attempting to shut the draw himself. “You are so annoying, you know that?! You woke my landlord and now she's harassing me for the rent I'm already two weeks late on and—YOU IDIOT! This draw's full! You can't close it, what the heck were you doing?”
Johnny leans up against the counter swinging something shiny back and forth in his hand. “Hey, look, if it makes you feel any better, I found the can-opener.”
✧✧✧
Moments later, Johnny's sitting, heals digging into whatever's left of the cushions on Peter's couch, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of beans into his mouth. He swallows hard, studying the half empty can. Even the smell isn't appetizing.“This tastes like shit.”
Peter rolls over from down on the floor onto his back, shirt twisted all around his torso, the tv pouring white light onto his face. “It was either that or--”
“Shut the hell up with that nasty ass patty. You bring it up one more time, I'll hurl all over your carpet.” Johnny flicks a bean at him and Peter tried to deflect it but it embeds itself in his messy hair.
“Ha ha! Your hair!”
“Shaddup!”
✧✧✧
It's almost 1am and Peter's eyes can barely stay open. The movie isn't nearly as interesting as he thought it would be. He's ruffling his own hair and yawning every two seconds. “I'm getting kinda tired. Hey, you heading out soon?”
“Dude, seriously? You got me sittin' here watchin' this boring ass movie with you for the past hour and a half and you won't even lemme see the end of it?” Johnny kicked Peter in the ribs from the other side of the couch.
“Okay, alright," Peter said. "You can see the end.”
“And then what?”
Peter's tired eyes dart over to the blond man taking over his entire sofa. “What do you mean?”
The other hero shrugged, blues eyes glued to the TV. “I thought this was a, ya know, a sleepover kinda thing.”
“What?” Peter's eyes were wide awake now.
“See, I told you you need hearing aids.”
“I heard what you said!”
Johnny crawled over and leaned close to him, a silly smirk on his face. “And...?”
Peter sighed, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. His hand pushed lightly on the other man's strong, warm chest. “Okay, fine. I guess you can sleep on the couch.”
The nerve of this guy, huh? First he nearly starves him to death, then he feeds him this disgusting, expired can of beans that's probably gonna give him the shits by tomorrow morning, and now he wants him to spend the night on this lumpy, snot-shaded, smelly, sad excuse for a couch? He could even feel the springs in this thing. It could easily give someone a backache for a week.
Johnny shoved him. “No way! Have you smelled this thing? It smells like a mixture of cat piss and those beans I was eating earlier!”
Peter pushes him back coming to his own defense. “It does not!”
“Then you sleep on it!”
“Why should I? It's my apartment!”
“And your couch!” Johnny shouts making a run for the bedroom.
“Hey! Get back here!” Peter does a one arm hand stand that flipped him over the couch. “Johnny!”
Peter rushes to his room to find Johnny settled in it and making really loud, obnoxious, fake snoring noises.
When Johnny feels a rough tug of the sheets, he face plants a pillow to Peter's face. “Take your pancake and go sleep on your piss stained couch.”
“Get out of my bed, Johnny.” Peter protests wearily.
“Make me.” Johnny's fired up eyes were daring and he was just about ready to put up a fight.
But Peter's exhaustion had already claimed him. “I'm too tired for this, you moron! Just move over!”
Peter climbs into the left side of the full-sized bed, struggling to find space to lay on his back. “Keep your feet on your side. Matter of fact, keep your whole self on that side!”
“But what if I want to cuddle?” Johnny jokes, his mischievous grin growing wider and wider with every passing second.
Peter groans and kicks at his warm feet until he moves them over, and then he's pushing Johnny's whole limp body away from him and onto the other side.
“Wow, Pete. This's probably the most action this bed's gotten in a long while, huh?”
Peter, deciding he's finally reached his breaking point, switches to lay on his right side, showing his back to the other man as he yanks the blanket up and over his shoulder with a big, huge huff. “I am not talking to you about any of that!”
“Oh, come on. We're buddies.”
“Do me a favor and shut up.”
Johnny leans over, all smiles, and shakes his shoulder in an annoying manner. “Are you really mad?”
Peter attempts to nudge him off, which only makes Johnny lean over him more, dropping all his dead-weight onto him. “You are mad, aren't you?!” He snickered.
“Get off, Johnny,” he huffs.
What kind of a sleepover would this be if his best bud was mad? Oh, no. Johnny's had more than enough of his pouting to last him a life time. He is so not having this. And then a light bulb goes off in his head.
“Are you ticklish?”
Peter quickly turns toward him with narrowed eyes, “Don't you dare.” He tries to push him off, “Juh-Johnny no—hehe.” Johnny's fingers were already attacking his sides and Peter's giggling like a two year old, twisting, turning and kicking, and somehow during their wrestle Johnny's hot body lands on top of him as he tries to catch his breath.
They stare blankly at each other for a while, awkardly. Eyes flicker and then they both move, shoving off of one another.
“Okay....that was a little weird,” Johnny finally says, scooting over to his side, leaving some distance between them.
“Yeah...” Peter whispers, tugging on his blanket. Tugging. Tugging. And tugging. Then he's shouting over his shoulder, “Johnny why do you need two-thirds of the blanket?!”
“It's comfy,” he whines childishly.
Peter spins around, stealing most of it away from him, which ended up being completely pointless because then Johnny's trying to tug it all back and eventually Peter gives up the fight.
He lays there for a moment, clinging onto the little piece of blanket and whatever amount of composure he has left, just glaring at the ceiling like it had done something wrong.
And just when it feels like things have settled back into silence, Johnny's fake snoring again and Peter's jerking his elbow outward until it finds its way to Johnny's ribs. He hears a stifled yelp and then Peter's talking to the cracks in the ceiling as if an epiphany just washed over him.
“Johnny Storm, you are both the funnest and most annoying person I have ever met in my entire life.”
Johnny rotates over onto his stomach. He buried his pretty face into the sunken pit of the pancaked pillow with his disordered pale wispy strands snuggling lazily against his nose bridge, and a small, playful smile sweeping across his lips. “Yeah, it's a fun sleepover.”
“It's not a sleepover!”
Johnny's smile grew until he was grinning wildly like a maniac. “Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that, Pete.”
It was so totally a sleepover.
✧