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Peter was just heading for home when he got the text.
I need your help
He squinted down at it. It was from Johnny, but it didn’t seem like a Johnny text, too abrupt and without any of the usual teasing. He would’ve thought it meant Johnny needed Spider-Man’s help with a villain, except Johnny would’ve called if it’d been something important like that.
Now, Peter
His eyebrows raised. Johnny was using his name even. Must be serious. He started to text back, but another message came in before he could send it.
NOW
And okay, he obviously needed to be moving faster.
Omw. BB? he wrote back, already swinging for the Baxter Building.
All he got in reply was, My room, so he slid his phone back into the pocket he’d sewn into the lining of the costume and booked it.
-----
“I got here as fast as I—” He nearly fell back out the window.
Johnny was—he was—only Johnny would own a silk robe. It was the first coherent thought that bubbled up out of the roiling cauldron that was Peter’s mind in that moment as he took in an almost-naked and entirely dishevelled Johnny Storm sitting on the edge of his bed. The rest of what was currently passing for his brain was too focused in on a naked shoulder and the hint of a nipple and long, long bare legs to think much at all.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time to be able to ask, “Er, so when you said you needed help …?” and because he didn’t want his new middle name to be “look at how I can fit my entire foot in my mouth!” he left it at that.
He could see Johnny’s Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed.
“Do you remember when I saved your life two weeks ago?” Johnny asked, and Peter had never heard his voice be that low and rough.
He blinked. “You mean when you came out of nowhere and flew in between me and the Rhino, making me miss my shot and also ruining my night vision so that when I jumped out of the way of the Rhino’s charge, I brained myself on a post?”
“But then I kept him from attacking you!” Johnny said, doing some kind of weird twitch all over his body, his hands fisted in his lap, and if anything, his voice got even lower. “You owe me!”
Peter just … he had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. His natural inclination was to argue, because when wasn’t it, but Johnny was acting so strangely that it didn’t seem like the best idea.
So he slowly said, “Owe you what?” and wondered if falling out the window wasn’t the better idea after all.
“Okay,” Johnny said, unclenching one hand and raking it through his hair, making the robe slip even further, “so like, don’t freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” Peter said, inching one step backward.
“Seriously. Don’t freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out!” he said, internally freaking the fuck out.
“Alright, well, so, I had … an accident.”
Peter paused. Okay, so he hadn’t been expecting that. He looked over the parts of Johnny that he could see—which was a lot—but he didn’t notice any injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he asked when Johnny didn’t elaborate any further.
“You could … say that,” Johnny said, laughing, although it wasn’t a real laugh, dark and heavy, and it cracked at the end. He did another one of those weird full-body twitches.
“Johnny?” Peter asked, this time taking a step toward him.
Johnny took a couple of deep breaths. “I need your help. Getting—” And Johnny definitely said something at that point, but Peter had no clue what.
“What?”
Another deep breath. “Gettingavibratoroutofmyass.”
Annnnnnd there was no way that Johnny had just said what Peter thought he’d just said. Ha ha ha no.
“Come again? Sorry, it just sounded like you said—”
“I have. A vibrator. Stuck. In my ass,” Johnny said, enunciating clearly and concisely while staring him straight in the eyes, and Peter didn’t know who was blushing harder, but he was sure they were in a race to see who could match the color of his mask first.
“I … well that’s … and you—”
“I need your help taking it out,” Johnny said, still aggressively staring and blushing, and shit, the window had definitely been the best choice.
“Look, Sparky,” he said, and it was only through a huge exercise of self-control that he kept his eyes on Johnny’s face. It was probably his—totally inappropriate!—imagination that he thought he could detect a faint buzzing. “I—”
“Look, I know this is a weird thing to ask, alright? I know,” Johnny said, and Peter didn’t think he really knew, because otherwise he wouldn’t be asking. “But if you had asked, I would’ve done it for you.”
“After you laughed in my face for ten minutes straight.”
Johnny paused. “Probably. And you can, okay? You can make whatever jokes you want afterward, but the point is, if this ever happened to you—”
“This would never happen to me!” Peter said, maybe a little hysterically, he could admit it. “Everyone knows you only use toys with flared bases if you’re doing anal stuff!”
Okay, seriously, there was definitely a buzzing sound, but Peter suspected that this time, it was from the all the blood in his body immediately rushing to his head.
“Not that I …” he began awkwardly, then decided, fuck it. Not important at the moment. “Whatever. Flared bases,” he said, pointing at Johnny. “But I don’t really know what you’re expecting here. I’m not exactly equipped to help out with this kind of problem.”
“Peter,” Johnny said, and he’d been maintaining a mostly stoic air about him, but it was gone now, and Johnny looked haggard, desperate, looked like he was at the end of his rope, and Peter hadn’t really thought he’d get out of helping Johnny, but after seeing his expression, he knew he couldn’t even try anymore. “There’s no one else for me to ask! You think I can go to Reed, or-or Ben, or Sue and say I fucked up and—”
“No,” Peter said, feeling like shit. “Of course not.” And everyone knew who Johnny was. If he went to the ER with something like this, it’d be plastered across the internet within seconds.
It was his turn to take a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”
-----
“I’m not shooting webbing up your ass!” he said, sounding as absolutely appalled as he felt.
“Look, I’ve seen you adjust the thickness of the webbing. All you have to do is attach one strand to the base of the vibrator and then pull it out.”
“What if I miss?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do?”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Do you ever miss?”
“Yes! Sometimes.” He looked at the corner of the room. “When someone fucks up my aim,” he mumbled. “But I’ve never used my webbing inside a person before!” he said, volume raising until he was yelling. What if he webbed Johnny’s ass closed?
He blinked; thought about his life; thought about his life choices.
Then he shook his head, because now wasn’t the time. Sure, he always carried solvent around on him, and technically speaking, it should be safe to be … ingested, but he really didn’t want to experiment with it on Johnny, especially since depending on how far down Peter webbed him, he’d potentially have to use a lot of solvent to dissolve it all.
He realized Johnny had been quiet for a while, and he glanced over at him—only to see Johnny curled over his lap, shaking hard enough that Peter could see it from where he was standing.
His throat went dry.
It’d been one thing to know that Johnny had a vibrator inside of him. It was completely another thing to know it. Because Johnny had a fucking—shit, wrong word, wrong word—a damn vibrator inside of him, and Peter hadn’t really thought through what that meant.
The vibrator was still on, had been on the whole time Peter had been in the room. All those twitches had been because the vibrator was doing what vibrators do, and now, Johnny was … he was …
Peter turned around and stared out the window as hard as could, trying not to listen, trying not to think even. He was here to help. That was all Johnny wanted him for.
He waited until he couldn’t hear the labored rasp of Johnny’s breathing before looking back over his shoulder at Johnny who was curled on his side. “Are you … okay?” he asked, which was a stupid question all things considered.
“It just … hurts a little,” Johnny said, sounding completely wrecked. “I never get to come down completely, and then it’s winding me back up.”
Yes, he bet it did hurt, Peter thought distantly, imagining how sensitive Johnny had to be after so many orgasms, how sharp and piercing the pleasure had to be, how it’d take longer and longer for Johnny to come, but it’d happen eventually, because there was no other option.
His cock throbbed. Fuck, he was a bad person.
“Peter. Don’t miss,” Johnny said, and Peter nodded rapidly, probably looking for all the world like a bobble-head doll but unable to stop himself.
“Okay.”
-----
“How do you want to do this?” Peter asked, standing next to Johnny, but he wasn’t looking. He knew he’d be looking at a hell of a lot soon, and maybe it didn’t matter, but he wanted to give Johnny whatever tiny bit of privacy he could.
“I don’t know,” Johnny said, and from the sound of it, he was looking in the opposite direction as well. “On my … hands and knees, I guess?”
“Okay, yeah, sure,” Peter said, willing to do it however Johnny wanted, but …
Gravity wouldn’t hurt them in that position, but it wouldn’t help them either. Probably the best way to go about it would be if Johnny were squatting, but did Peter really want to offer that up as a possibility? For that to work, Peter would have to be right under Johnny’s butt with a bird’s eye view of things, and maybe that wouldn’t really matter considering how up close and personal he was going to get anyway, but somehow it did. Sure, it wouldn’t be as bad as say, having to put a few fingers in there in order to stretch Johnny wide enough for him to look inside—
Nope, nope, he couldn’t do it, he thought, starting to sweat and adamantly refusing to think about what Johnny would feel or look like. He’d thought he could help, but he’d been sooooo wrong, and erection? What erection? He was just going to explain that—
“Spidey?” Johnny said, sounding uncertain, and just … fuck his life. There was no way he could walk out on Johnny when he sounded like that.
He closed his eyes. Get it together, Parker. This wasn’t about him. Johnny needed him. So he’d just have to lay offerings at the altar of the sports cup inventor after all of this was over and pretend that he wasn’t doing any disgusting perving on his best friend and then maybe give himself permanent amnesia so he’d never think about tonight again. It’d be fine.
“Please don’t hit me,” he said, and he still couldn’t look Johnny in the eyes, but he could at least look in his general direction, “but what if you knelt on two chairs instead? Maybe tried to … squat a little. I’d web them down, so there’d be no chance of them moving, and then we’d be working with gravity to get the vibrator out of you.”
He watched as Johnny turned toward him, and he took a deep fortifying breath and forced himself to meet his eyes, no matter how embarrassed he was, because it couldn’t be as bad as what Johnny was going through.
Johnny bit his lip, and Peter didn’t mean to look down, but he did anyway. He was the absolute worst.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” Peter asked, surprised he’d agreed so quickly.
“Yeah. I have no shame left in me,” Johnny said, although it patently wasn’t true. “If it means getting this damn vibrator out of me even one second faster, I’ll do it.”
It made him wonder how long Johnny had had it in him; how long he’d waited before he decided he couldn’t take it anymore; how many times he’d—
“So I’ll just set that up, shall I?” Peter said, his voice much higher than normal, and got to work.
He put the chairs against Johnny’s bed and then set his lube on the floor with a pillow and a couple of towels nearby as well. Peter was almost tempted to ask for a flashlight, but the lights could get bright enough that he didn’t think it was going to be an issue.
He gestured for Johnny to get on the chairs and was grateful when Johnny kept the robe on. It only offered the illusion of privacy, but every little bit helped.
“Alright,” Peter said and winced when the word cracked at the end. He swallowed. “I’m going to need to stretch you as much as I can so I’ll be able to see the vibrator.” He had no idea what he was going to do if he couldn’t see the vibrator, because he wasn’t going to shoot blind, but they’d cross that bridge if they came to it.
“O-okay,” Johnny said, and Peter internally said a quick prayer asking for strength before going down on his knees behind him.
He actually dithered for a moment about whether or not he should take his gloves off. It’d be another barrier between them, but he imagined that would feel really weird for Johnny, and although the possibility of them interfering with his web shooters was incredibly small, he still didn’t want to take the risk. Off they went.
And then he was ready to get down to business.
Alright.
No problem.
Deep breaths. No panicking. Inhale. Exhale.
“Peter?”
“Sorry!” he said and nearly fumbled the bottle, squirting out a stream into his hand with a horrifyingly loud noise, and he was actually getting a headache from all the blood in his face. “Crap, sorry!”
He could hear Johnny swallow. “Would you just …?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” he said, and fuck, he was turning into a broken record. “Do you … uh, mind moving your robe?”
Johnny’s whole back tightened, including his ass and legs, not that Peter was looking! He totally wasn’t looking.
Johnny didn’t say anything, but then the robe was being lifted up, and there was a squeak bubbling up in Peter’s throat, but he shoved it down.
It was just an ass. He’d seen plenty of asses before. He’d even seen Johnny’s ass before. And alright, it’d never been this close up, and he’d noticed it was a great ass, but he’d never really realized how great, nor ever seen those two little beauty marks on his right cheek, but it wasn’t a problem. Sure, he felt like he might hyperventilate at any moment, but he was fine.
“Okay, I’m just going to start with two fingers,” he said, not at all hoarsely—denial, denial, everything was denial right now—and his eyes fluttered shut at the first press of his trembling fingers inside.
Johnny was … looser than he’d expected. But of course he would be. He’d had a vibrator stuck up there for who knew how long, and he’d been trying to get it out for a lot of that time. But it just meant that Peter sunk it deeper than he’d planned, and he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched.
Luckily—so, so luckily—Johnny let out a moan at the same time, covering up Peter’s noise—wait, how was that lucky again? Because Johnny was hot inside, so fucking hot that it was making Peter’s head spin, and he was slick, and he’d just moaned as Peter pushed into him, and Peter’s erection was going to break the plastic of his cup.
“Sorry!” Johnny gasped, almost overlapped by Peter’s own, “Shit, sorry!” and they were apologizing in chorus. Awesome.
He tried not to focus on what he was doing, which was an exercise in futility. He kept wondering what it’d feel like to trace the rim of Johnny’s hole with his thumb while his fingers were still inside, and it was all he could do not to hit his head against something har—er, solid. That wasn’t what he was there for, no matter how much his body was telling him he was, and Johnny deserved better than a friend who couldn’t think past his dick, so Peter just rasped out, “I’m going to add another one,” and kept his fingers as professional as he could make them.
It didn’t help that this close up, there was no imagining he was hearing the vibrator—he definitely could detect its buzzing, and it was … distracting. Although, he supposed, the whole thing was distracting, and he just hoped he could come out of it with his sanity intact.
There was more of a stretch with three fingers, but it wasn’t long before Peter was asking Johnny if he could add a fourth. Hopefully, that would be enough.
Please, let it be enough, Peter thought fervently, widening his fingers one more time before adding his pinky.
Johnny hadn’t exactly been quiet during all of this, but he’d kept the noises mostly muffled and somewhat ignorable. Okay, not really, but Peter was doing his hardest to pretend he wouldn’t ever, ever, never ever, think about them again. When Peter slid four fingers inside of him, however, Johnny made a sound that sounded like it’d been punched out of him, loud and quick and violent, and Peter nearly panicked.
“Shit, are you okay? You’re tightening up, should I—”
Oh fuck. He was an idiot, Peter realized, as Johnny’s body jerked and shook, squeezing down on him.
For one shameful second, he imagined what it’d feel like if it were his cock and not his fingers fucking Johnny, thought about using the vibrator at the same time—
But then his mind wiped itself completely clean as Johnny started fucking himself on Peter’s hand, groaning, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” as he clenched around him.
Peter wondered if that was what having a stroke felt like, but he managed to garble out, “It’s fine, do what you need to do,” and tentatively began thrusting his fingers, letting Johnny ride it out.
He totally wasn’t expecting to tap against something hard when Johnny grinded down particularly deep—or for Johnny to yell quite so loudly when he did it.
The thing about Peter’s night job, however, was that it had taught him to react in a split second in all kinds of stressful situations—okay, so maybe not this kind of situation, fine, but still, high pressure, adrenalin-filled situations—and as soon as he hit the vibrator, he flexed the hairs on his hand that let him stick to anything.
If he’d thought Johnny had been loud before, though, it was nothing compared to the volume he reached in reaction to that move, and Johnny convulsed, pitching forward and almost falling off the chairs.
Peter did get the vibrator, though, so there was that.
-----
“So…” Peter said, and once again, didn’t know where to look. “How have you been?”
It’d been over three weeks since the night he’d … given Johnny a hand—his sense of humor was deeply messed up. That was the only excuse he had for thinking of that particular phrase.
Johnny had pretty much collapsed after Peter had pulled the vibrator out, so Peter had taken Johnny’s robe off—Peter didn’t think he’d seen so much come in one spot outside of porn—and cleaned him up before tucking him into bed.
One part of him had wanted to wait for Johnny to come around so they could talk things over. Another part had wanted to web away as fast as he could so they couldn’t. The last and biggest part of him had just wanted to find a dark place for him to wank his dick off, and it’d been the one that won out.
Peter had spent the next whole day jumping every time he heard a phone ring (it hadn’t even mattered if it was his ring tone or not; Peter had still checked), but Johnny hadn’t called, and Peter hadn’t blamed him. It was hard to move past completely platonic … mostly … er, partially platonic fingering. He’d wanted to give Johnny and himself time to repress it, so he hadn’t called him either, which was how they got to their current set of circumstances, where they hadn’t talked or seen each other for three weeks, and the only reason they were together now was because a blue blob monster had attacked Manhattan.
He missed Johnny, though, missed him a whole of a hell lot, and he wanted his best friend back.
“I’m fine,” Johnny said, but he didn’t sound like it, seemed worn and frayed, and Peter found himself reaching out for him before he realized—not that it did any good since Johnny was covered in flames. Peter couldn’t touch him without getting irreparably burned, which seemed to be the story of his life recently.
“You don’t sound fine,” Peter said, regretting the fact that he hadn’t at least messaged Johnny to check up on him.
“I’m just tired,” Johnny said, and Peter could believe it, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.
“And are you …? I mean, I haven’t seen you since—”
“Look, could we not right now?” Johnny said, looking away, and Peter faltered.
“Su—” His throat clicked. “Sure. Of course.”
“I’m not … I just … I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“Okay,” Peter said, but Johnny was already gone.
Another week passed, and then another, and you know, Peter hadn’t asked Johnny to text him and make things uncomfortable between the two of them. He’d done everything he could to be a good friend in an impossible situation—and maybe the feelings hadn’t been as “friendly” as they should’ve been, but Peter had done his best. He didn’t deserve the cold shoulder—
Unless.
Unless Johnny knew.
Peter wracked his brain, but he hadn’t done or said anything that should’ve tipped Johnny off.
And even if Johnny did know, Peter’s paranoia aside, he knew Johnny wouldn’t shut him out because he was in love with him.
The thing was that Peter had always admired Johnny, had cared for him for years and always wondered what it’d be like if they got together … but Johnny would be dating someone, or Peter would, or there’d be an invasion of some kind, or just something, and nothing had ever happened. Which had been fine, had been for the best really, but then—
But then Johnny had died, and something in Peter had died too.
When Johnny had come back, Peter had been grateful, so fucking grateful, and he’d promised himself that he’d tell Johnny how he felt.
Except whatever spark had been between them, had faded out on Johnny’s part during his time in the Negative Zone. There’d been no more lingering glances, or risque jokes, no more slightly-more-than-casual touches, and Peter had understood. Two years had passed for Johnny. Peter had lost his chance.
It’d been okay, though, because Johnny was alive. That was all that mattered.
And then, five weeks ago, Johnny had asked for his help. It’d been torture to see and touch and know he’d never have, but he’d done it, even though it’d nearly toppled the wall he kept around his feelings. He’d gone through with it, because Johnny had needed him, and now it was Johnny’s turn. If Peter could get over how much he loved Johnny in order to save their friendship, then Johnny could damn well get over this.
“Hey,” he said, opening Johnny’s window, because Johnny never locked them. He had to be careful not to slam them closed. Not that he was angry. Annoyed maybe. Perturbed.
Johnny jumped, whirling around and putting a hand to his chest. It was vaguely satisfying. “What the hell, Peter! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but, and Johnny’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Right. Well, I’m actually on my way out, so—”
“So you’re just going to avoid me forever?” Peter asked, and Johnny’s face kind of spasmed.
“I’m not avoi—”
“Bullshit,” Peter said, and alright, maybe he was a little angry. “We’ve barely talked this entire month—”
“We’ve gone a whole month without talking before!”
“But not. Like. This!” Peter said and yanked off his mask. If Johnny was going to lie and tell him this was no different than any of those other times, then he could damn well do it to his face.
But all Johnny did was flinch and look away.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, and even to his own ears, he sounded desperate. “I get that it was embarrassing, but what’s a little humiliation between friends? I mean, do you remember the time I—”
“Peter,” Johnny asked, and there was such defeat in his voice that Peter’s heart ached just hearing it. “You’re right, okay, but I still … can’t we do this in a few weeks, when I’m not … when I don’t—”
“When you don’t what?”
Nothing but silence.
“Johnny?” he said and took a step closer.
“You know,” Johnny murmured and sat down on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.
“I know what?” Peter asked, completely lost.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?” he asked, because it sounded like Johnny … like he … but that was crazy.
“I just need some more time,” Johnny said, his eyes red-rimmed as they raised to meet Peter’s. “I know you don’t feel the same way I do, and I’m sorry that I can’t pretend nothing happened, but I can’t—I’ll do better about stopping, I promise, just, don’t—” His voice cracked. “Please don’t—”
“Johnny,” he said, his mind reeling. Johnny couldn’t mean what he thought he meant.
But if he did … if Johnny did feel something … if there was even a chance that he cared about Peter half as much as he cared about Johnny …
“I love you, Johnny Storm,” he said, words he’d thought he’d never get a chance to say to Johnny, and shit, he was shaking. “You fucking idiot.”
The look on Johnny’s face kind of made him want to laugh—hysterically, maybe—but laugh all the same.
“What?”
“So don’t tell me what I do or don’t feel,” Peter said, and shit, he needed to sit down. His knees had never been so wobbly.
There was a chair just a few feet away from him, but he walked to Johnny’s bed, and feeling more nervous than when he’d taken on Venom and Carnage at the same time, he sat down next to him instead.
“You love me?” Johnny asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Peter admitted.
“How long?”
He shrugged, staring down at his hands. “I don’t know exactly. But when you were in the Negative Zone …” He trailed off. “I was going to tell you when you got back, but—”
“No, it’s good that you didn’t. Sometimes, I don’t think I came back quite right,” Johnny said, and Peter shook his head, but before he could argue, Johnny asked, “You really love me?”
“Yeah,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, Johnny, I do.”
“Good,” Johnny said, and then somehow, Peter was on his back, staring wide-eyed up at Johnny above him. “You’d better,” he said fiercely and bent down to kiss Peter like he wanted to crawl inside.
“Shit, Johnny,” he gasped as he stroked Johnny’s arms, his back, explored every part of Johnny he could reach. It was like he couldn’t touch Johnny enough, like his body was determined to get in all the caresses it’d been denied up until now. “Fuck,” he said, as Johnny grinded against him, and he grabbed Johnny’s ass, thrusting up to meet him.
“You are wearing way too many clothes,” Johnny said in between kisses, and Peter heartily agreed.
“So take 'em off me,” he said, grinning, a challenge, and got to work as well, because turnabout was fair play.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Johnny asked as he began peeling Peter out of his costume.
“Why didn’t you?” Peter asked, and damn it, spandex was a bitch to take off, but at least his arms were finally free.
“I thought you didn’t want me,” Johnny said eventually as he shoved material down Peter’s legs.
“How could you think that?” Peter demanded, and oops, that had probably been an expensive shirt.
Apparently, Johnny either didn’t care or hadn’t noticed Peter rip his shirt in two, because all he said was, “You left.”
“What?”
Johnny rose up on his elbows. “I literally came on you, and you didn’t—you didn’t even—you left.
“You were basically unconscious! What else was I supposed to do?” he asked, cupping Johnny’s face.
“Not leave,” Johnny said seriously, and Peter groaned and pulled him down for another kiss.
It was wet and sloppy and fantastically good, and Peter couldn’t believe it was happening, couldn’t believe how happy he was when he’d been so miserable less than an hour ago.
He opened Johnny’s jeans and then pushed them and his boxers carefully down, not wanting a repeat of the shirt incident, and he moaned when Johnny settled on top of him, lining their cocks up.
For a long time, there wasn’t any more talking, just broken breathing and soft cries, but then Peter whispered against Johnny’s lips, “I want to keep you,” as he felt his orgasm looming, and Johnny gasped, “Yes. Please,” before coming over the both of them.
Afterward, they lay in bed, Peter playing with Johnny’s fingers, and he said, “I didn’t want to tell you, but there was another reason I left.”
Johnny stilled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t handle the idea of masturbating in your bathroom, but I really needed to—” The rest of what he was saying was muffled by the pillow on his face.
“Whoever told you you were funny was lying.”
“Probably. But this is true though!” Peter said, grinning and tossing the pillow to the side.
“Whatever, weirdo. If you’d stayed, you wouldn’t have had to masturbate.” And okay, that was a good point.
“Well, next time I’ll stay,” Peter said magnanimously, and then rolled so he was on top of Johnny. “Out of curiosity, how many times did you …?”
Johnny arched an eyebrow and wrapped his arms around Peter’s back. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Why, yes, yes I would,” he said, laughing, and kissed Johnny, then kissed him again, just because he could.