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come and rest your bones with me.

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It’s a little awkward, Flash thinks, sitting on the bed of the guy who he used to make a point of harassing, especially considering he’s waiting for said guy to get home so they can work on homework. Peter’s room is and isn’t what he imagined it to be. There’s camera stuff, bits and pieces of computers, school books, things Flash expected. On the other hand, there’s the stuff he didn’t expect, newspaper and magazine clippings of Spider-man nearly cover Peter’s entire desk, sketches of Spider-man’s suit are tacked on the wall, and, really, Flash wasn’t aware that Peter was a fan.

In the time they’ve started hanging out, Spider-man’s one of those subjects that’s only come up a few times and every time, Peter has been the one to change the subject. It doesn’t bother Flash much, though, he’d rather not discuss the slight obsession he’s formed over the vigilante.

Of course, that is when said vigilante comes careening into Peter’s window, making it shudder in the pane. Flash nearly falls off the bed with his shock, sucking in a breath when he notices the red smear that is undoubtedly blood on the glass. He doesn’t even move when Spider-man starts fumbling from the window until he realizes that the vigilante can’t get the window open and it prompts him to step forward, forcing the window up.

His timing leaves a little to be desired, because the second the window is up fully, Spider-man seemingly loses consciousness, slumping down and if Flash hadn’t reached out and grabbed hold of the suit, well, Flash is just glad that there’s a roof over the Parker’s front porch.

It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to get the unconscious man into the room and onto Peter’s bed before he goes back to the window to shut it once more. And then, he has nothing to stall himself with and finds himself hovering beside the bed, staring down at Spider-man and trying to figure out why he showed up at Peter’s, if he should wait for him to regain consciousness, or if he should go ahead and try to figure out where the blood is coming from, which now that he’s had the thought, it’s sort of obvious by the tear in the suit.

Eyebrows furrowed, Flash turns and goes into the bathroom, moving things around until he comes across a first aid kit. When he goes back into the bedroom, Spider-man is stirring some, making these pitiful groans and Flash can only stare as he reaches up and pulls the mask off and he’s left staring at Peter.

Peter is prodding at the wound visible through the tear in the suit when the first aid kit slips from Flash’s grip and hits the floor with a muted thud. They end up having a staring contest, Peter breathing heavily, his hair sticking up in several directions and a bruise forming high up on his right cheek. “Flash,” Peter finally croaks out, one hand curling over the wound and the other indicating the first aid kit on the floor by Flash’s feet.

Flash starts then, shifting into motion, leaning down to grab the kit before moving to Peter’s side, “What do you need me to do?”

Watching Peter struggle to sit up, Flash finds himself moving without thinking about it, sitting on the edge of the bed and helping Peter sit up. “There should be a zipper on the back, in the middle at the top,” Peter states, voice hoarse, and it takes Flash a few tries before he gets his fingers on it, dragging the tongue down and helping Peter roll the top of the suit down off his shoulders and then arms.

It’s a little more difficult, trying to ease the material away from the wound but they work slowly and finally get the top part of the suit pooled at Peter’s waist and Flash can see the extent of the damage as well as the other bruises and scrapes that litter Peter’s torso, “Jesus, Parker, are you trying to get yourself killed?” He mutters before he can stop himself, popping open the first aid kit.

“Antiseptic wipes,” Peter responds, before grinning a little, “Not the reaction I expected from you,” he adds and grins just a bit more, only to cause his lip to split towards the corner and Flash is nearly hypnotized when Peter’s tongue flicks out to catch the blood that wells up.

Flash swallows heavily and turns his attention back to the kit, not bothering to respond as he fishes out the antiseptic wipes, tearing one of the packets out and hating how his hands shake when he pulls one of the wipes out, “You want me to do this or...?”

Peter settles back on his elbows and shakes his head, “You’ll be able to do better than me,” he answers, eyebrows furrowed as he focuses down on the wound which is still sluggishly bleeding, “Just be easy, but make sure you get all of it.”

Nodding slowly, Flash starts, being as gentle as he knows how, cleaning the wound, mindful of the pained sounds Peter keeps making and the way his body flinches away from him, “Sorry,” he mutters softly while he opens another packet and cleans the last of the wound before turning his gaze back to Peter once more.

“There should be gauze and medical tape in there,” Peter tells him, the little crease that had been between his eyebrows easing up.

Frowning and shifting some on his knees, Flash glances back at the wound, “You don’t need stitches or anything?” He asks softly, rubbing a piece of gauze between his fingers.

Peter quirks an eyebrow at him, sucking the corner of his lip into his mouth and Flash has to flick his eyes away, “Nah, I don’t think it’s deep enough. If it gets worse, I’ll find out if it’s necessary.”

Flash nods a little, setting the piece of gauze on the bed next to Peter, pushing things around until he unveils the medical tape, popping it open, “So what? Just tape the gauze down?” He asks, unsure. At Peter’s nod, he gently presses the gauze over the window, tearing off pieces of tape, placing one down on each side of gauze.

It seems to satisfy Peter, because he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, a knee on either side of Flash, “Thanks,” he mutters, one of his dopey smiles blooming to life, “For helping and for not, you know, freaking out or anything.”

“Oh no, I’m holding the freak out in ‘til I’m alone,” Flash responds with a grin of his own.

And then, they’re just staring at each other, neither of them moving except for the rise and fall of their chests and Flash becomes hyper aware of his hands, just shy of touching Peter’s thighs, still encased in the suit, though it’s so tight, Peter might as well not have any clothes on. And that’s a train of thought Flash has to catch before it spirals out of control.

He’s saved when Peter’s aunt knocks on the door, offering him dinner, unaware that Peter has returned home.

“We’ll be down in a few, Aunt May,” Peter answers for them both, eyes still on Flash. His legs press in, seemingly over their own accord, his knees pressing into Flash’s sides. When his aunt’s footsteps fade, Peter stands up and Flash has to fall back on his haunches to avoid an awkward situation, watching Peter walk over to the dresser, suit still down around his hips.

And, of course, Peter would be the one without modesty, shoving the suit down off his hips, revealing the fact that he’s naked underneath and Flash sucks in a soft breath, glancing determinedly at the window, the smear of blood across the glass.

He glances back when Peter clears his throat, finding Peter in a pair of sweats and an almost too small shirt from what looks like middle school. “Come on, dinner,” he murmurs and Flash lets Peter haul him up off the floor, following him out of the room and down the stairs, twisting his fingers in the fabric of his own shirt.

Peter’s aunt ushers them into chairs, making a sympathetic sound over the bruise on, sending almost suspicious glances Flash’s way, not that he blames her really, he’s given Peter his fair share of split lips and black eyes. “Aunt May, it’s fine, I’m okay, just had a small incident skateboarding.”

She purses her lips, almost like she’s not sure if she should believe him, but apparently her need to get to work outweighs it, because she sets to bowls between them, noodles and spaghetti sauce and then a plate of bread, before pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head and heading for the door, “I’ll be back later.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, before Peter is suddenly moving, piling spaghetti high on his plate, “I’m starving,” he mutters, grabbing a piece of bread and shoving it halfway into his mouth.

Flash watches him in amusement before scooping some noodles and sauce onto his own plate and starting to eat at a much more reserved pace. “This tastes amazing,” he blurts before he can censor himself, depressingly unsure of the last time he had a homecooked meal that didn’t come from a freezer package or can.

“Yeah, Aunt May is a great cook,” Peter replies, one of his dopey grins in place, “Except for her meat loaf,” he adds, this far off look coming onto his face, like he’s remembering something and Flash leaves him to it.

Peter seems to eat at least three more pieces of the bread as well as a mountain of spaghetti before he seems remotely full and then Flash helps him take the dishes to the kitchen and put the remaining food in containers. He leaves it to Peter to put them in the fridge, chewing on his lower lip as he watches, a bit startled when Peter suddenly turns to him, and lets himself be backed into a counter, Peter a line of warmth at his front. “I just, really, want to...” Peter trails off, eyes focused on Flash’s mouth and it’s like Pavlovian response that Flash licks his lips.

The action draws a wounded sound from Peter who surges forward, pressing his lips to Flash’s so hard that their teeth click, but Flash doesn’t have much time to worry about that, because Peter is licking into his mouth, a little sloppy and a lot good.

They break apart after what feels like hours of kissing and Flash is certain his lips are swollen and there’s spots of color high on Peter’s cheeks, “Wow,” Peter breathes out finally, ducking his head, seemingly shy as he hides his face in the front of Flash’s sweater.

Flash isn’t sure how to react, just huffs out a laugh, curling his arms around Peter’s back, “Yeah, wow seems to cover it,” he teases softly, nuzzling his face into Peter’s hair, unsure of what’s happening but not about to question it. There’s not really a chance to though because Peter’s teeth find his skin, worrying at it in a way that leaves Flash certain there’s going to be a mark.

It’s then that Peter pulls back, eyes focused on the spot and he’s apparently satisfied with his work, his hand finding Flash’s and pulling him away from the counter and up the stairs.

By what really shouldn’t be a surprising show of strength, Peter has him down on the bed and Flash really can’t complain, because Peter is a reassuring and oh so pleasant weight on his hips, even more so when Peter ducks back down to kiss him, deep and filthy in a way he never would’ve associated with Peter Parker and now will never not associate with Peter.

Peter kisses him and kisses him some more, until they’re both breathless, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. It’s a really good look for Peter, whose attention is immediately diverted, focused on worrying another mark into Flash’s skin. And really, he’s about to comment, but then Peter’s hands are pushing up under his shirt, cool against his heated skin.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that Peter is shoving at his shirt and Flash sits up, nearly displacing Peter, causing Peter to settle fully in his lap which startles a groan from both of them. Practically panting, Peter gets almost frantic, shoving at his shirt again and Flash raises his arms to let Peter pull it off, not even bothering to watch where Peter tosses it, his own fingers curled into the hem of Peter’s shirt, tugging it up until Peter gets the hint and raises his own arms.

Flash drops Peter’s shirt off the edge of the bed, one hand already curling around Peter’s uninjured side, just simply sliding over the skin, eyes on Peter’s face, while Peter’s fingers trace over his chest. Fingers don’t really prepare him for when Peter leans down and fastens his lips to the skin. “Jesus, Peter.”

Pulling back long enough to lazily grin at Flash, Peter ducks back down, sucking and kissing his way across Flash’s chest. Flash whines, a sound he’ll deny later, rolling his hips up against Peter’s, his hands keeping Peter steady.

It doesn’t long for Peter to migrate back up, lips sliding over each other’s. It’s not really a kiss, more like panting into each other’s mouths, rutting against each other through their clothes. Before long, Peter’s shuddering above him, practically mewling, and Flash follows him immediately, unable to stop himself after watching Peter come apart above him.

Peter is practically boneless when he slumps forward over Flash’s chest, pressing lazy kisses to whatever bits of skin he can get to. Curling his arm around Peter’s back, Flash can’t help but to laugh softly, pushing his fingers through Peter’s hair, down his throat and along the slope of his back.

“What’s so funny?” Peter practically slurs against his skin, still breathing shakily and heavily, his cheek to Flash’s chest.

Shrugging his shoulders, Flash trips his fingers up along the notches of Peter’s spine, “Just thinking that a few months ago I was kicking your ass in the quad and now,” he trails off, unsure of what exactly now is.

Peter pushes himself up, hands flat on Flash’s chest, “Now we’re making out and getting each other off and you know that I’m Spider-man?”

Flash laughs, a bit hysterical really, “Sounds about right,” he replies, eyes focused on the ceiling behind Peter, hating how unsure he feels. It’s not something he’s used to and he wants to hate Peter for pulling him so far out of his depth, but he just can’t.

Then Peter is leaning down, pressing quick, chaste, fleeting kisses to his lips, grinning all the while. And it’s a grin that Flash has seen before, one that he usually associates with Peter and Gwen, but now it’s directed at him and he can feel himself blushing. Peter just grins even more, fingers coming up to stroke along the blush that Flash is sporting, “And, now, you’re going to take me on a date.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Flash slides his hand down Peter’s side, “Am I now?” He asks, rubbing his thumb along Peter’s ribs, unable to stop himself from touching now that he can.

“Not right now exactly, but say Friday,” Peter answers with a nod, his smile falters a little, looking unsure, “Unless you don’t want to?”

Flash shakes his head, moving his hand up to cup his hand around Peter’s head, dragging him into a kiss that he breaks before it can turn into much, “I’ll be here at seven.”

Peter grins at him, happy and content, slumping back down to Flash’s chest, “Good, yeah, okay,” he states, sounding almost dazed, like he’s surprised that Flash is actually going along with his suggestion.

Really, Flash is surprised at himself and maybe it’s his post orgasm haze that has him agreeing or something else that he doesn’t really want to think about, so he just goes with it, smiling absently as he runs his fingers down Peter’s back. This is easy in a way he didn’t expect, not that it’s something he’s ever thought about, and he’s content to revel in it for now.

For now, anyways, but eventually he’ll have to get up and walk part way across the city in uncomfortably sticky jeans. He’ll have to try and avoid his father, who will no doubt be drunk. And he’ll have to go to school tomorrow and wonder exactly what he and Peter are, if it’s okay to touch Peter, maybe even hold his hand. It’s not something that’s ever appealed to him about relationships until now, because he wants to people to know. There’s this little vindictive part of him that wants to rub in people’s faces, that he has something good, something right.

He doesn’t really think there’s anything wrong with that, and he hopes Peter won’t either. And, really, if he goes by how Peter has fastened his mouth back to the skin of his neck, no doubt leaving a mark, well, then Flash doesn’t figure Peter will mind too much.