Tolkien writing the moral decay and eventual decline of a species of tree people: they stopped listening to their wives who subsequently all disappeared and took their gardens with them.
Roommates Who Definitely Aren't Hooking Up (Except They Are)
(7067 words, Teen, College AU, No Capes/Powers AU)
Peter Parker was having a problem. The problem was six feet four inches tall, had shoulders that could block out the sun, and was currently standing in their shared dorm kitchen, cooking breakfast without a shirt.
Again.
"Morning," Jason Todd said without turning around, spatula working expertly as he flipped what smelled like blueberry pancakes. "Coffee's fresh."
"Thanks," Peter managed, his voice only slightly strangled as he tried not to stare at the expanse of muscled back on display. The problem—Jason—had a truly unfair number of muscles, all of which seemed designed specifically to short-circuit Peter's brain.
Peter grabbed a mug from the cabinet, pointedly focusing on pouring his coffee rather than on how the morning light played across Jason's bare shoulders. Or the way his sleep pants hung low on narrow hips. Or the fact that if Peter reached out, he could trace the line of that one particular muscle that curved around Jason's—
"Sleep okay?" Jason asked, glancing over his shoulder with a small smirk that suggested he knew exactly where Peter's thoughts had wandered.
"Fine," Peter lied, taking a too-large gulp of coffee and immediately burning his tongue. "Ow—shit!"
Peter nodded, eyes watering. He was not okay. He was the opposite of okay, because now Jason was facing him, which was infinitely worse than Jason with his back turned. Facing-him-Jason meant Peter had to deal with abs and chest and that little trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath—
"Earth to Parker," Jason said, waving the spatula. "You in there?"
"Yeah," Peter said quickly. "Just... tired. Stayed up late finishing that biophysics problem set."
Jason made a sympathetic noise. "The one you were swearing at around 2 AM? Sounded intense."
"You heard that?" Peter felt heat creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the coffee. "Sorry if I kept you up."
"Nah," Jason said with a casual shrug that did interesting things to his shoulder muscles. "I was awake anyway. Reading."
Of course he was. Because Jason Todd, pre-law student with a literature obsession, apparently never slept. Peter had lost count of how many times he'd stumbled to the bathroom at 3 AM to find Jason still up, sprawled on the couch in the communal lounge with a book, looking unfairly attractive despite the late hour.
It was entirely unfair. Especially since they were supposed to be just roommates. Just normal, platonic roommates who definitely weren't thinking about each other in any way that involved less clothing than they currently wore.
Not that Jason ever wore much clothing to begin with.
"Pancakes?" Jason offered, sliding a plate across their small counter. "Unless you're too busy staring into space."
"Thanks," Peter said, accepting the plate and pointedly keeping his eyes on the food. "You didn't have to cook."
"I was up," Jason said with another one of those casual shrugs. "Besides, watching you attempt to feed yourself is painful. Last week you ate cereal with water because we were out of milk."
"That was one time," Peter protested. "And I was desperate."
Jason laughed, a low rumble that Peter felt in places that roommates definitely shouldn't be feeling things. "You're always desperate, Parker."
There was something in the way Jason said it—a certain inflection, a certain look in his eyes—that made Peter wonder if they were still talking about breakfast.
But that was ridiculous. They were roommates. Just roommates. Very platonic roommates who occasionally cooked for each other and sometimes watched movies together and never, ever thought about how the other one looked without clothes on.
Except for the fact that Jason was currently half-naked, which made the "not thinking about it" part exceedingly difficult.
"Don't you own shirts?" The words escaped before Peter could stop them.
Jason's eyebrow lifted in that infuriating way of his. "Several. Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?" There was a challenge in his voice, a hint of something dangerous that made Peter's pulse jump.
"No," Peter said, stabbing a pancake with more force than necessary. "Just wondering if you've heard of this revolutionary concept called getting dressed."
"Says the guy who walked around in nothing but a towel for twenty minutes yesterday because he 'forgot' his clothes in the dryer."
Peter felt his face heat. "That was different. I actually needed clothes."
"And I don't?" Jason's smile was sharp enough to cut. "Maybe I like the freedom."
Peter made a non-committal noise around a mouthful of pancake, because saying "I like it too, please never change" seemed inappropriate for 8 AM on a Tuesday.
The truth was, living with Jason was an exercise in restraint that Peter was increasingly worried he was failing. They'd been randomly assigned as roommates at the beginning of the semester, and Peter had spent approximately fifteen seconds in Jason's presence before developing what could only be described as a catastrophic crush.
Four months later, the crush had evolved into something deeper, more visceral, that tightened Peter's chest whenever Jason did... well, anything. Laugh at something on TV. Furrow his brow while studying. Exist.
It wasn't just that Jason was gorgeous, though he absolutely was. It was everything else—his sharp wit, his surprising gentleness, the fierce intelligence behind those blue-green eyes. The way he could discuss Russian literature for hours but also throw himself into heated debates about whether Han shot first. The way he made sure Peter ate when he was deep in a coding spiral, casually dropping sandwiches next to his laptop without making a big deal of it.
The fact that he was standing in their kitchen right now, still shirtless, looking at Peter like he knew exactly what Peter was thinking.
Which was impossible, because if Jason knew what Peter was thinking, they wouldn't still be standing on opposite sides of the kitchen.
"You got class today?" Jason asked, leaning against the counter in a way that made his abdominal muscles do things that should be illegal before noon.
"Yeah," Peter said, forcing his eyes back to his plate. "Biochem at nine, then that comp sci seminar I told you about."
"The one with the professor you hate?"
Peter smiled despite himself. "Dr. Walters doesn't hate me. He just thinks I'm 'squandering my potential' or whatever."
"His loss," Jason said with a casual ease that made something warm unfurl in Peter's chest. "You're the smartest person I know, Parker. If he can't see that, he's an idiot."
Before Peter could respond—not that he knew how to respond to casual praise that made him want to both preen and hide his face—there was a knock at their door.
"That'll be Tim," Jason said, making no move to put on a shirt as he headed for the door. "He's borrowing my notes for Professor Gordon's class."
Peter took the opportunity to gulp down the rest of his coffee and get a grip on himself. It was just another Tuesday. Just another morning with his unfairly attractive roommate who walked around half-naked and made him pancakes and said nice things that made Peter want to climb him like a tree.
Totally normal roommate stuff.
"Oh good, you're both here," Tim Drake said as he walked in, giving Jason an exasperated look. "Would it kill you to put on a shirt?"
"Possibly," Jason said with a grin. "I'm conducting an experiment."
Tim rolled his eyes, nodding a greeting to Peter. "Hey, Peter. How's it going?"
"Fine," Peter said, grateful for the distraction. "Just enjoying my roommate's nudist tendencies before class."
"I'm not a nudist," Jason protested. "I'm just comfortable with my body."
"And making sure everyone else is uncomfortable with it," Tim muttered, earning a laugh from Peter.
"The notes are on my desk," Jason said, ignoring the comment. "Help yourself."
As Tim disappeared into Jason's bedroom, Jason turned back to Peter with a thoughtful look.
"Am I really making you uncomfortable?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough that Tim wouldn't hear. There was something in his expression—a vulnerability that rarely showed through his usual confidence.
"No," Peter said honestly. "I was just giving you a hard time."
Jason studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, seeming satisfied. "Good. Because I'd hate to think I was crossing a line."
"No lines crossed," Peter assured him, even as he thought about how many lines he'd like to cross, given half a chance. "We're good."
"Good," Jason repeated, and there was something in the way he said it—a certain heat in his gaze that lingered a beat too long—that made Peter wonder if they were having two entirely different conversations.
But before he could analyze it further, Tim returned with the notes, and the moment shattered.
"Got 'em," Tim said, oblivious to the tension. "Thanks, Jay. I'll get them back to you before the exam."
"No rush," Jason said, his easy smile back in place. "Peter, you better get moving if you want to make that 9 AM."
Peter glanced at the clock and swore under his breath. "Shit, you're right." He shoved the last bite of pancake in his mouth and grabbed his backpack. "Thanks for breakfast!"
"Anytime," Jason called after him, and Peter tried not to read too much into the way his voice lingered on the word.
Just roommates, he reminded himself as he hurried down the hallway. That's all they were. And that's all they would be.
No matter how many times Jason cooked shirtless pancakes.
"So let me get this straight," Ned said later that day, as they huddled over lab notes in the library. "Your roommate—the hot one with the muscles—"
"As opposed to all my other roommates?" Peter interrupted.
"Fair point. Your only roommate, the objectively hot one, cooks you breakfast shirtless on the regular, and you're still trying to convince me there's nothing going on?"
Peter sighed, rubbing his temples. "Nothing is going on, Ned. We're roommates."
"Roommates don't typically have sexual tension thick enough to cut with a knife."
"There's no sexual tension," Peter insisted, knowing he sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.
"Uh-huh," Ned said, clearly not buying it. "That's why you texted me at 2 AM last week about how, and I quote, 'his arms should be classified as lethal weapons.'"
"I was sleep-deprived," Peter mumbled. "And possibly delirious."
"And the time before that when you called me in a panic because he wore reading glasses and you 'weren't prepared for that level of hotness'?"
"They were unexpected glasses! No one looks that good in glasses, Ned. It's not natural."
Ned gave him a pitying look. "You know the whole floor has a betting pool going on when you two are finally going to hook up, right?"
Peter froze. "They what?"
"A betting pool," Ned repeated slowly. "Currently at over two hundred dollars. Gwen's got money on this weekend, by the way. Said something about the sexual frustration reaching critical mass."
"That's... that's ridiculous," Peter spluttered. "We're not—there's no—we're roommates!"
"So you keep saying," Ned said, turning back to his notes. "All I know is that if you don't make a move soon, I'm going to lose twenty bucks to Miles."
Peter stared at him in betrayal. "You bet on us too?"
"Hey, I'm just being realistic. I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention."
Peter's heart did a complicated flip. "How... how does he look at me?"
Ned glanced up, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Like he's thinking about all the ways he could take you apart," he said bluntly.
Heat rushed to Peter's face. "That's—you're exaggerating."
"I'm really not," Ned said. "Look, Pete, I get that you're in denial or whatever, but literally everyone can see it. The guy wants you. You want him. What's the problem?"
The problem, Peter thought but didn't say, was that he was terrified. Terrified of being wrong. Terrified of ruining the easy companionship they'd developed. Terrified that if he gave in to this thing between them—this electric current that seemed to buzz whenever they were together—it would consume him entirely.
"It's complicated," he said instead.
"It's really not," Ned countered. "But sure, keep pretending. Just know that when you finally crack and jump each other, I expect full details. For science."
"You're the worst friend ever," Peter groaned, burying his face in his textbook. "Can we please talk about anything else?"
"Fine," Ned agreed, taking pity on him. "But just so you know, if you don't make a move by next Friday, I'm out twenty bucks and my dignity."
"Your dignity was already questionable," Peter muttered, earning a pencil thrown at his head.
As they turned back to their work, Peter couldn't help but think about what Ned had said. Was it possible? Did Jason really look at him that way when he wasn't paying attention? And if he did, what was Peter supposed to do about it?
The thought followed him through the rest of his classes, a persistent whisper that made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
By the time he made it back to the dorm that evening, he'd nearly convinced himself that Ned was exaggerating. That this thing between him and Jason was just a product of his own overactive imagination, fueled by too many late nights and not enough social interaction.
Then he opened the door to their room and all rational thought fled.
Because Jason Todd was doing laundry.
Shirtless.
Again.
"Oh, hey," Jason said, glancing up from where he was folding a dark t-shirt. "Didn't hear you come in."
Peter stood frozen in the doorway, his backpack dangling limply from one hand as he tried—and failed—not to stare.
It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. The dorm lighting should be unflattering—it was for literally everyone else on the planet. But somehow, under the harsh fluorescents, Jason looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine shoot. All golden skin and defined muscle, moving with a casual grace that made Peter's mouth go dry.
"You okay?" Jason asked, pausing mid-fold. "You look a little..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
"Fine," Peter said quickly, forcing himself to move, to act normal. He dumped his backpack on his desk and grabbed his water bottle, suddenly desperate for something to do with his hands. "Just a long day."
"Professor Walters giving you trouble again?"
Peter shook his head. "No, it was fine. I just..." Just spent the whole day thinking about you, he didn't say. Just can't stop staring at you, he definitely didn't say.
"Just tired," he finished lamely.
Jason studied him for a moment, those eyes too perceptive by half. "You sure that's all it is?"
There was something in his tone—a certain knowing quality—that made Peter wonder, not for the first time, if Jason could read his mind. If he could see the thoughts that raced through Peter's head whenever they were close.
"Yeah," Peter said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "Why? Is there something else it should be?"
Jason shrugged, the movement rippling across muscle in a way that made Peter's fingers itch to touch. "You tell me, Parker."
And there it was again—that challenge, that hint of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. It made Peter's pulse quicken, made heat pool low in his stomach.
"Nothing to tell," Peter said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Just a normal Tuesday with my normal roommate doing his normal shirtless laundry routine."
Jason's lips curved in a slow smile. "Is that what this is about? The shirt thing again?"
"There's no 'shirt thing,'" Peter protested.
"Really? Because you seem pretty fixated on it," Jason said, taking a step closer. "Almost like it bothers you."
"It doesn't bother me," Peter insisted, even as he took an instinctive step back.
"No?" Another step closer. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" Peter's voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Like you can't decide if you want to run away or..." Jason trailed off, now close enough that Peter could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
"Or what?" Peter asked, unable to help himself.
Jason's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping briefly to Peter's mouth before meeting his eyes again. "Or something else entirely."
They stood there, frozen in a moment that stretched taut between them, charged with possibility. Peter swore he could hear his own heartbeat, hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
All he had to do was lean forward. Just a few inches, and he could find out if Jason's mouth tasted as good as it looked. If those hands felt as strong as they appeared.
The sound of a door slamming down the hall shattered the moment.
"I should finish this," Jason said, gesturing to the laundry, his voice rougher than usual. "Got a paper to write tonight."
"Right," Peter said, stepping back, trying to ignore the disappointment that settled heavy in his chest. "I've got stuff to do too."
As Jason returned to his folding, Peter retreated to his desk, pretending to focus on his laptop while his mind spun with what had—or hadn't—just happened.
Just roommates, he reminded himself firmly. That's all they were.
But as he stole glances at Jason's back, watching the play of muscle as he moved, Peter couldn't help but wonder how much longer they could keep pretending.
By Friday night, Peter was at his breaking point.
The whole week had been a study in torture. Ever since that moment with the laundry, something had fully shifted between them—a heightening of awareness, a new electricity in the air whenever they were together. Nothing had happened, not really, but Peter felt like they were balanced on a knife's edge, teetering closer to... something.
It didn't help that Jason seemed determined to drive him crazy. Walking around in those low-slung sweatpants. Stretching in ways that made his shirts ride up. Standing too close whenever they were in the kitchen together, his heat wrapping around Peter like a physical touch.
And the looking. So much looking. Long, intense gazes that made Peter feel stripped bare, exposed in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead left him aching for more.
It all came to a head at the floor party thrown by their RA.
"You're coming, right?" Jason asked earlier that day, leaning against Peter's doorframe in a way that emphasized the long line of his body. He was wearing one of those ridiculous Henley shirts that should have been illegal, the sleeves pushed up to expose forearms that Peter had definitely not spent hours fantasizing about.
"To Doug's thing?" Peter asked, pretending to be absorbed in his biochem textbook. "I don't know. I have a lot of work..."
"All you do is work," Jason said, crossing the room to perch on the edge of Peter's desk. "Come on, Parker. Live a little."
He was too close. Peter could smell him—that distinctive mix of leather and something spicy that always made his head spin.
"Fine," Peter agreed, mostly to end the conversation before he did something stupid, like lean forward and press his face against Jason's neck. "But I'm not staying long."
Jason grinned, a flash of white teeth that made Peter's stomach flip. "We'll see."
And now here they were, crammed into Doug's room with what seemed like half their floor, red solo cups in hand as music thumped from portable speakers. Peter had lost track of Jason about twenty minutes in, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
"Having fun?" Gwen asked, materializing at his side with a knowing smirk.
"Thrilling," Peter deadpanned, taking a sip of his beer. "Nothing I love more than watching Chad from 306 attempt to dance."
Gwen laughed, following his gaze to where a lanky sophomore was indeed flailing enthusiastically to the beat. "Riveting entertainment. But I notice you're not watching Chad. You're scanning the room for a certain tall, brooding roommate."
"I am not," Peter denied automatically.
"Sure," Gwen said, clearly not believing him. "That's why you've checked the door every time it opens for the last ten minutes."
Peter sighed, giving up the pretense. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to everyone with eyes," Gwen said cheerfully. "If it helps, he's been looking for you too. Kept glancing over here until Tim dragged him into some debate about—I don't know, something pretentious and literary, probably."
Peter's pulse quickened. "He was looking for me?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Gwen said, nudging him with her elbow. "The guy's into you. The whole floor knows it."
"We're just—"
"Roommates," Gwen finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I've got twenty bucks riding on tonight being the night you finally admit you want to climb him like a tree."
"Ned told me about the betting pool," Peter groaned. "It's disturbing, you know that? And probably unethical."
"What's unethical is watching you two dance around each other for months," Gwen countered. "It's painful, Peter. Like watching two particularly oblivious butterflies circle each other without landing."
"That's... a weird metaphor."
"I'm a little drunk," she admitted. "But my point stands. You like him. He likes you. Stop being dumb about it."
Before Peter could respond, there was a commotion at the door—someone new arriving. But it wasn't Jason. It was their floor don, the graduate student responsible for maintaining order in their dorm.
"Shit," Gwen muttered. "It's Barbara. Who invited her?"
"No one," Peter said, watching as the redhead scanned the room with narrowed eyes. "I'm guessing someone complained about the noise."
"Great," Gwen sighed. "Party's over, I guess."
Sure enough, Barbara was making her way through the crowd, confiscating drinks and issuing warnings. As she approached their corner, Peter felt a hand close around his wrist.
"This way," a familiar voice murmured in his ear, and then Jason was tugging him toward a side door that Peter knew led to a small hallway with supply closets.
"What are you—" Peter started, but Jason shushed him, pulling him through the door just as Barbara turned in their direction.
The hallway was dark and narrow, barely lit by a single emergency light. Jason led him a few steps down before opening one of the closet doors and gesturing for Peter to enter.
"Seriously?" Peter whispered. "A closet?"
"Unless you'd rather explain to Babs why you're at an illegal dorm party," Jason whispered back. "She was my foster brother's girlfriend. Trust me, you don't want that lecture."
"Fine," Peter relented, slipping into the small space. Jason followed, closing the door quietly behind them.
The closet was tiny—more of a cupboard really—lined with shelves of cleaning supplies and barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Especially when one of those people was Jason Todd, whose broad shoulders seemed to take up most of the available space.
"This was your plan?" Peter whispered, pressed uncomfortably against a shelf of paper towels. "Hide in a closet?"
"You have a better idea?" Jason whispered back. In the dim light filtering through the crack under the door, Peter could just make out the outline of his face, close enough that he could feel Jason's breath on his cheek.
"No," Peter admitted. "But this is..."
"Cramped?" Jason suggested, shifting slightly. The movement brought their bodies into full contact, chest to chest, thighs to thighs. "Sorry about that."
He didn't sound sorry. He sounded... amused. Maybe even pleased.
"It's fine," Peter said, his voice strangled. It was very much not fine. Every nerve ending in his body was suddenly, acutely aware of everywhere Jason touched him, which was everywhere. "Just... how long do we need to stay here?"
"Until the coast is clear," Jason murmured. "Shouldn't be too long. Babs isn't known for lingering."
"Great," Peter said weakly. A few minutes. He could handle a few minutes of being pressed against Jason in a dark closet without doing anything stupid.
Probably.
"So," Jason said after a moment, his voice still low. "Having fun at the party?"
Peter let out a strangled laugh. "Are we really making small talk right now?"
"Would you prefer we stand here in awkward silence?" Jason countered. "Because I'm flexible."
The word "flexible" conjured images that Peter absolutely did not need in his head right now, not with Jason pressed against him from chest to knee.
"Small talk is fine," he managed. "Uh... how's your paper going? The one for Professor Gordon?"
"Finished it this afternoon," Jason said. "Now I'm free all weekend. You?"
"Just that biochem lab report, but it's mostly done."
"Good," Jason said, and there was something in his voice—a certain quality that made Peter's skin prickle with awareness. "So we're both free this weekend."
"I guess so," Peter agreed, not sure where Jason was going with this.
"Interesting," Jason murmured. "Very interesting."
Before Peter could ask what was so interesting about their mutual lack of plans, there was a sound from outside—footsteps passing by the closet door, accompanied by Barbara's voice giving what sounded like a stern lecture.
Jason tensed, instinctively moving closer to Peter as if to shield him. The movement pressed them even more firmly together, Jason's thigh slipping between Peter's in a way that made heat shoot up his spine.
"Sorry," Jason whispered, his mouth right next to Peter's ear. But he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to settle more firmly into the position, one hand coming to rest on Peter's hip as if to steady him.
Peter's heart hammered against his ribs. He was sure Jason could feel it, given how close they were standing. Could probably feel the way Peter's breath had quickened too, coming in shallow pulls that couldn't quite fill his lungs.
The footsteps and voices faded, but Jason didn't move. His hand remained on Peter's hip, thumb stroking small circles through the fabric of his jeans.
"Jason?" Peter whispered, the name barely more than a breath.
"Hmm?" Jason's voice was lower than usual, rough around the edges.
"The coast is clear," Peter pointed out. "We could... probably go now."
"We could," Jason agreed. His thumb continued its maddening circles. "Is that what you want?"
The question hung between them, loaded with meaning that went far beyond their current situation.
"I..." Peter started, then stopped, his courage faltering.
"Because," Jason continued, his voice dropping even lower, "I've been thinking. About what Ned said to you the other day."
Peter froze. "You heard that?"
"I came to find you in the library," Jason admitted. "Overheard part of your conversation. The part about... how I look at you."
Mortification flooded Peter, hot and sharp. "Oh god. Jason, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"He's right," Jason interrupted. "About how I look at you. Has been for months."
Peter's breath caught in his throat. "What?"
"I said, he's right," Jason repeated, his hand sliding from Peter's hip to the small of his back, drawing him impossibly closer. "I do think about taking you apart, Parker. Every fucking day."
The words sent a jolt of pure heat through Peter's body. "You... you do?"
"Yes," Jason said simply. In the dim light, his eyes were dark, intent. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
And there it was—the challenge laid bare, the line drawn in the sand. All those months of tension, of wanting, of pretending, distilled into a single question.
Peter had spent so long convincing himself that this couldn't happen, that they were just roommates, that he'd almost started to believe it. But standing here, pressed against Jason in the dark, feeling the solid heat of him, the steady beat of his heart—there was no more pretending.
"This," Peter said, and closed the distance between them.
The first touch of Jason's lips was electric, a shock to Peter's system that had him gasping into the kiss. Jason made a sound—low, hungry—and then his hands were everywhere, tangling in Peter's hair, sliding down his back, gripping his hips to pull him closer.
Peter responded with equal fervor, months of pent-up desire breaking free as he wrapped his arms around Jason's neck, pressing up on his toes to deepen the kiss. Jason tasted like beer and mint and something uniquely him, addictive and perfect.
"Fuck," Jason breathed when they finally broke apart for air. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?"
"How long?" Peter asked, his voice wrecked.
"Since the first day," Jason admitted, pressing his forehead against Peter's. "When you walked in with your stupid science puns on your t-shirt and that smile, talking a mile a minute about biochem like it was the most fascinating thing in the world."
"That long?" Peter whispered, awed. "But you never said anything."
"Neither did you," Jason pointed out, nipping lightly at Peter's bottom lip. "Figured you weren't interested. Until I started noticing the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention."
"So the shirtless thing," Peter said suddenly. "That was on purpose?"
Jason's smile was wicked in the dim light. "Had to test my theory somehow."
"You're evil," Peter accused, but he was smiling too, his hands sliding under Jason's shirt to finally, finally touch bare skin. "Do you know how many cold showers I've taken because of you?"
"Tell me more," Jason murmured, his mouth trailing down Peter's neck in a way that made coherent thought difficult.
"The pancakes," Peter gasped as Jason found a particularly sensitive spot below his ear. "The laundry. That time you washed our dishes wearing those jeans that should be illegal in all fifty states."
Jason laughed against his skin. "And here I thought I was being subtle."
"There is nothing subtle about you, big guy," Peter said, tugging Jason's face back up to kiss him properly. "Nothing at all."
They lost themselves in each other after that, the closet forgotten as hands explored and mouths tasted and small, breathless sounds escaped into the darkness. Peter felt dizzy with it, with the reality of Jason's hands on him, Jason's mouth on his neck, Jason's body pressed against his own.
All those months of wanting, of pretending they were just roommates, just friends, dissolved in the heat between them. This, Peter thought hazily as Jason's hand slipped beneath his shirt, mapping the contours of his stomach with hungry fingers. This was inevitable.
They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps. Didn't register the voices until it was too late.
The closet door swung open, flooding the small space with light.
"See? I told you they'd—OH MY GOD."
Ned's voice, followed by several gasps and one whoop of triumph.
Peter and Jason froze, caught in a tableau that left no room for misinterpretation—Peter pressed against the shelves, Jason's hand up his shirt, both of their lips swollen and hair mussed.
"Um," Peter said eloquently.
"Well," Gwen said from somewhere in the gathered crowd. "I believe this means I win the pool."
"Technically," Tim's voice chimed in, "you said they'd hook up this weekend. It's still Friday night."
"They're clearly hooking up," Gwen argued. "Look at them!"
"We can hear you," Jason pointed out, making no move to release Peter or remove his hand from under his shirt. If anything, he seemed amused by the whole situation, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"So," Ned said, crossing his arms with a smug expression. "Just roommates, huh?"
Peter buried his face in Jason's shoulder with a groan. "Can everyone please go away so I can die of embarrassment in private?"
"No way," Gwen said cheerfully. "This is the most entertaining thing to happen all semester. Four months of watching you two pretend not to want to jump each other, and now this."
"We weren't pretending," Jason said, finally withdrawing his hand from Peter's shirt but keeping him close with an arm around his waist. "We were in denial. There's a difference."
"A very fine one," Tim muttered.
"Can we please discuss this somewhere other than a closet?" Peter pleaded.
"I don't know," Jason said, his voice pitched low enough that only Peter could hear. "I'm kind of enjoying having you pressed up against me like this."
Peter felt heat flood his face. "You're not helping."
"Not trying to," Jason admitted with a grin.
Eventually, they extracted themselves from the closet, enduring a chorus of catcalls and knowing looks as they made their way back to the party, which had resumed after Barbara's departure.
"So," Peter said once they'd found a relatively quiet corner. "That happened."
"It did," Jason agreed, his hand finding Peter's and lacing their fingers together. "Any regrets?"
Peter looked at him—at the man who had been driving him crazy for months with his shirtless cooking and his intelligence and his unexpected kindness. The man who apparently had wanted him just as badly all this time.
"Only that we didn't do this sooner," Peter said honestly. "We wasted a lot of time pretending."
Jason's smile was slow and promising. "We've got plenty of time to make up for it."
"Is that right?" Peter asked, unable to keep the challenge out of his voice.
"Absolutely," Jason murmured, stepping closer, uncaring of their audience. "Starting now, if you want."
Peter was acutely aware of the eyes on them, of the whispers and knowing smiles. But with Jason looking at him like that—like he was the only thing in the room worth seeing—it was hard to care.
"What about our 'just roommates' cover story?" Peter asked with a grin. "Pretty sure we just blew that one."
"I think it was blown the minute we got caught making out in a supply closet," Jason pointed out. "Besides, I'm tired of pretending."
There was something raw in his voice, something honest that made Peter's chest tighten.
"Me too," he admitted softly.
Jason's hand came up to cup his face, thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. The touch was surprisingly tender for someone who had, minutes earlier, been pressed against Peter with rather less innocent intentions.
"Then let's stop," Jason said simply.
And he leaned down to kiss Peter again, right there in the middle of the party, in full view of everyone who had spent months watching them dance around each other.
Someone—probably Ned—let out a whoop. There was scattered applause, a few catcalls, but Peter barely registered any of it. He was too caught up in Jason—in the feel of his mouth, the warmth of his hand on Peter's face, the solid presence of his body so close.
"Get a room!" someone shouted.
Jason broke the kiss, a wicked smile playing at his lips. "Actually," he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "that's not a bad idea." He turned to Peter, his voice dropping. "What do you say, Parker? Want to get out of here?"
Peter's heart hammered against his ribs. "Where would we go?"
"I know a place," Jason said, his smile turning secretive. "Our room. With a locked door and no audience."
"Sounds perfect," Peter managed, his voice embarrassingly breathless.
Jason took his hand, leading him toward the door. As they passed Tim and Ned, Jason paused.
"Don't wait up," he said with a meaningful look that made Tim roll his eyes.
"Wasn't planning to," Tim replied dryly. "Just try to keep it down. The walls in this place are thin."
Peter felt his face heat, but Jason just laughed, a low sound full of promise.
They made their way back to their room in record time, hands clasped between them. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jason had Peter pressed against it, his mouth hot and demanding.
"Still just roommates?" Jason murmured against his lips, his hands sliding beneath Peter's shirt to map the contours of his back.
"Definitely not," Peter gasped, arching into the touch. "Unless roommates do this sort of thing regularly."
"Not any roommates I've ever had," Jason said, his voice rough as he trailed kisses down Peter's neck. "But then again, I've never had a roommate like you before."
"Is that a compliment?" Peter asked, his head falling back against the door as Jason found a particularly sensitive spot below his ear.
"Absolutely," Jason confirmed, biting gently at the spot. "You drive me crazy, Parker. Have since day one."
The confession sent a thrill down Peter's spine. "Same," he admitted. "Especially when you do your shirtless cooking thing."
Jason pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with promise. "That was entirely on purpose, you know. Noticed the way you looked at me that first time, when I came out of the shower without a shirt. Thought I'd test the waters."
"Evil," Peter accused again, but he was smiling. "I knew it."
"Says the guy who just happened to need something from the laundry room every time I was doing laundry," Jason countered, his hands now working at the hem of Peter's shirt. "Think I didn't notice that pattern?"
"That was... coincidence," Peter lied, lifting his arms as Jason tugged his shirt over his head.
"Sure it was," Jason murmured, his eyes darkening as they swept over Peter's now-bare chest. "Just like it was coincidence that you spent twenty minutes in that towel last week."
"Maybe I really did forget my clothes," Peter suggested, his breathing hitching as Jason's hands skimmed down his sides.
"Maybe," Jason allowed, pressing a kiss to Peter's collarbone. "Or maybe you were trying to drive me as crazy as you were."
"Did it work?" Peter asked, his hands sliding into Jason's hair.
Jason looked up at him, his eyes serious suddenly. "You have no idea," he said softly. "I've been losing my mind over you for months, Parker."
There was something raw in the admission, something vulnerable that made Peter's chest ache.
"Me too," he confessed, cupping Jason's face. "I thought... I thought it was just me. That you were just being you, and I was reading too much into it."
Jason shook his head. "Not just you," he said firmly. "Never just you."
And then they were kissing again, deep and desperate, months of pent-up tension finally finding release. Peter lost himself in it, in the feel of Jason's hands on his skin, Jason's mouth against his own, Jason's body pressing him against the door.
"Wait," Jason said suddenly, pulling back. Peter made a noise of protest, trying to follow his mouth, but Jason held firm. "Need to ask you something."
"Now?" Peter asked, breathless.
"Now," Jason confirmed, his expression serious despite the flush on his cheeks and the dishevelment of his hair where Peter's hands had been. "Are we doing this?"
"I thought we were already doing this," Peter said, gesturing vaguely between them.
"Not this," Jason clarified, his hand coming up to cup Peter's cheek. "This. Us. Because I need you to know—this isn't just physical for me. It's not just about wanting to get you into bed."
Understanding dawned, and with it, a warmth that spread through Peter's chest like sunlight. "Oh," he said softly.
"Yeah, oh," Jason echoed, a small smile playing at his lips. "So I'll ask again. Are we doing this? For real?"
Peter looked at him—at the man who had been driving him crazy for months, who cooked him pancakes and made sure he ate during finals week and apparently had wanted him just as badly all this time.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "We're definitely doing this."
The smile that broke across Jason's face was like nothing Peter had seen before—open, unguarded, genuinely happy. It made something in Peter's chest catch, a feeling too big to name expanding inside him.
"Good," Jason said softly. "Because I'm kind of crazy about you, Parker."
"That works out well," Peter replied, his own smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. "Since I'm kind of crazy about you too."
Jason kissed him then, gentler than before but no less intense. And as Peter melted into it, he couldn't help but think that for all the pretending they'd done, for all the months of "just roommates" and casual touches and longing looks, this—the truth between them, finally acknowledged—was infinitely better.
"You know," Tim said the next morning, when he encountered them in the hallway, Peter wearing Jason's shirt and sporting a rather telling mark on his neck, "if you two had waited one more day to finally get your act together, I would've won fifty bucks."
"Sorry to disappoint," Jason said, not sounding sorry at all as his arm wrapped possessively around Peter's waist.
"I'm not," Peter said with a grin. "Gwen said she's buying coffee for everyone with her winnings. Silver lining."
Tim rolled his eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. "Took you long enough, anyway. The 'just roommates' act was getting old."
"We weren't acting," Peter protested. "We really thought—"
"That you were just roommates, yeah, I know," Tim interrupted. "Meanwhile, the rest of us had to watch you two eye-fuck across the room for months."
"We did not—" Peter began, but Jason cut him off.
"We absolutely did," he admitted shamelessly. "Still do." As if to prove his point, he gave Peter a look that made heat rush to his face.
"And that's my cue to leave," Tim said, making a hasty retreat. "Use protection!"
"Your friends are the worst," Peter groaned, burying his face in Jason's shoulder.
"Our friends," Jason corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter's head. "And they're not wrong. We were pretty obvious."
"Apparently to everyone except ourselves," Peter agreed.
They made their way to the dining hall, hands linked between them. As they walked, Peter couldn't help but think about how much had changed in the span of twelve hours. Yesterday, they had been "just roommates"—at least in their own minds. Now they were... whatever they were. Together, certainly. Beyond that, Peter wasn't sure he had the right words yet.
But as Jason held the door open for him, his smile soft and private, Peter realized it didn't matter what they called it. They had time to figure it out.
"What?" Jason asked, noticing Peter's thoughtful expression.
"Nothing," Peter said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Jason's cheek. "Just thinking that for all the pretending we did, the truth is much better."
Jason's smile widened, his hand finding Peter's again. "Couldn't agree more, Parker. Couldn't agree more."
END NOTES: Thanks for reading y'all! I'll be posting this simultaneously on AO3 here!
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