Flash x Peter Fluff
Read part 2 here.
It’s so fucking cold.
It has to be a spider thing, but he can’t stop shivering and all he wants to do is bury himself in blankets and sleep for a whole month. He can’t even focus on what Mr Jenkins is saying because he’s too busy dreaming about unpacking that electric heater May bought him for Christmas last year when-
Thick, woollen heat is draped over his shoulders and he curls into it immediately with a grateful sigh of bliss, before blinking up and seeing Flash, a little awkwardly, standing above him.
Without a coat on.
He frowns, struggling to put it together as the snowflakes settle on his eyelashes and melt down his face. Why are they having an outside class in the snow? “Huh?” He asks in confusion, scrunching his nose up, and Flash just grits his teeth like this is paining him, and readjusts the coat so it tucks neatly under Peter’s chin.
He lets out a little moan at that. It’s so warm.
Flash clears his throat, stepping back and his eyes keep skirting away like he’s not sure where to look. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d say Flash looked…nervous? Uncomfortable? “It’s my coat, dipshit,” Flash sighs, stuffing his hand in his pocket and breathing out so the icy air hovers in front of his face for a second. “You look about three seconds away from freezing to death and I don’t need that shit on my conscience.”
Peter burrows into it and smiles, sniffling a little. “Thanks, Flash,” he says softly, “it’s so warm.”
Flash pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s the point, moron,” he sighs, muttering to himself as he heads over to join the front of the group. Peter’s not sure if this is all some sort of snow-driven hallucination, but he likes it.
Maybe he and Flash can actually be friends.
He makes sure to smile brightly the next day in school, as he heads over to Flash’s locker, coat in tow, and offers it out to him. “Hey man,” he beams, “thanks so much for-“
“Don’t mention it.” Flash scowls, yanking the coat back and shoving it into his locker. “I’m serious.”
“Oh.” Peter falters, wincing a little, “Sorry, I thought-“
“I don’t know what you thought,” Flash snapped, “but you were wrong. As usual, Penis Parker,” and then he shoves Peter’s shoulder as he pushes past.
Peter sighs. It seems that encounter in the snow was a one time thing.
Things go back to normal, until he catches the mother of all colds.
He shuffles his way into school anyway, because he loves school, and bundles up in as many sweaters as he can, sucking on lozenges and sneezing into tissues every five minutes. The other students give him a wider berth than usual, and he sits in the corner of the cafeteria, balefully pushing around the pizza on his plate. It looks good, but he doesn’t think his throat can take it and-
“Jesus, Parker. Seriously. Damn.” Flash groans, appearing out of nowhere, before he’s slamming a red flask down in front of Peter.
It’s a Spiderman flask.
Peter coos at the hero sticker, and in his sick-haze almost exclaims: “Look, it’s me!”
He doesn’t though. He just reaches out and traces the edge of the sticker and marvels at how someone is making merchandise and-
“Stop, Christ.” Flash sighs, slapping his hand away. “You’re supposed to drink it.” And then he opens the flask, and pours some of the content into the upturned lid.
Peter peeks forward curiously, before the aroma of chicken soup fills his nose. His mouth salivates and he inhales despite himself. It smells delicious. He looks up at Flash, and thinks his eyes water a little. “Can I have some?” He pleads, definitely not above begging, because his throat would do anything for that soup-
“Can you- yes. That’s why I brought it over.” Flash grumbles in disbelief and Peter takes a sip and tips his head back and moans. It’s so good, it tastes amazing, it feels amazing- he would give his life for this soup-
When he looks back up at Flash, the other boy’s eyes dart away almost guiltily. Like they were stuck on Peter’s neck for some reason. Peter doesn’t understand. He smiles gratefully, and gestures to the seat opposite him. “Wanna sit with me?” He asks hopefully.
Flash pauses, and for a second, Peter thinks he’ll say yes, but then- “I have to get back.” The dark skinned boy sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just- finish the soup. And don’t give me back that flask. Burn it. I don’t need whatever you’ve got.” And then he’s marching away.
Sigh. Either way, Peter still has the soup.
And everything goes back to normal. Two little blips on the radar, that’s all. But still, now, whenever Flash makes a snarky comment, Peter can’t help smile just a little. He thinks Flash notices, but neither of them do anything about it.
Before Liza’s Christmas party comes.
He’s pretty sure she invited him out of pity, but he was allowed to bring Ned so it’s a win in his books. The two of them spend most of the party listening to Flash DJing and hiding in the kitchen trying to make the longest words out of the fridge magnets.
And that’s when Ned finds the bottle of vodka.
“Can you even get drunk?” His friend asks dubiously, eyeing the bottle. “With the enhanced healing and stuff?”
Peter frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits, but now he’s really curious and-
Fast forward an hour- it turns out spiders don’t have a particular tolerance to alcohol.
The whole world is fuzzy and pretty and Peter doesn’t know how he ended up in the garden, but everything is so beautiful- he tries hooting at an owl, but the fluffy creature doesn’t seem that impressed and the world tilts for some reason- physics, or something and the grass isn’t as soft as it looked and-
“Peter!” Comes a voice, tight with alarm.
Warm, strong arms are suddenly rightening the world and Peter can smell cologne and spots black curls. “Flash!” He exclaims brightly, stumbling as he attempts to stand on his own. He fails, and Flash steadies him. “Look at that owl!” He does his best to point in the direction of the tree. “I don’t think he likes me.” He pouts sadly.
Flash’s face looks this weird mix of fond and exasperated, but Peter’s probably too drunk to be reading it right. “That’s a birdhouse, dipshit,” he says softly, “c’mon, I’m taking you home.”
“Can’t drive when you’re drunk!” Peter gasps scandalously, squeaking when he’s lifted straight off the ground- “Am I flying?” He cries, twisting a little.
Flash holds him tighter to his chest. “I’m carrying you. You weigh like nothing- and what? No, I’m not drunk. What, did you think I’d let you drive my car? As if, Parker.”
Peter giggles. “I’ve driven your car,” he confesses in an exaggerated whisper.
“What?”
Oops, that might be a bad one. He’d quite like some chocolate.
He’s set down as Flash starts doing something and he realises that they’re now in front of Liza’s house. “You realise you’re making no sense.” Flash grumbles, opening the passenger side and then guiding Peter in. It’s warm and the seats are plush leather, and he can smell Flash’s cologne again as he fiddles with the seatbelt. Peter tries to help, but Flash pins him to the seat with a firm look. His hand firm against Peter’s chest. Peter likes that. Should he? “Just stay still. I think I might have some chocolate.”
Peter happily obeys, before leaning forward to nuzzle Flash’s neck. “I like you when you’re nice,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to the boy’s cheek. “Makes your eyes go sparkly- s’pretty,”
He suddenly feels very sleepy, and for a long time, there’s no movement and no noise.
Before Flash clears his throat and buckles his seatbelt successfully, before coming around the car and heading in. He turns the engine on and blasts the heater and Peter’s eyes drift shut in contentment, before something’s being pressed into his hand.
He looks down.
It’s a candy bar.
He could cry he’s so happy, he claws at the wrapping before it’s taken away- and the it’s back, bare, and he immediately starts nibbling at it. He glances out the window and watches as the world starts to roll by.
“If anyone’s the pretty one,” Flash says gruffly, clearing his throat, “it’s you.”
Peter turns to look at him and sucks on the chocolate so it melts soft enough for him to bite into. “I’m pretty?” He asks, happy at the compliment. He feels pretty. “Am I the prettiest?” He asks honestly, peering at Flash. Are there two Flashes?
The Flash nearer the front scoffs, before half-smiling. “Yeah,” he admits softly, “you are. The prettiest.”
That makes him feel warm and nice. “I liked it when you um- pinned me to the seat,” he admits, nodding so Flash knows he’s being honest. “Made me feel good.”
Flash looks away from the road- dangerous!- and his fists go tight. “Fuck.” He hisses, but he doesn’t sound angry. That’s good, Peter thinks and as soon as he finishes the chocolate, he starts to drift off to the gentle thrum of the motor. He thinks he hears Flash say something; gentle and trembling, but he can’t hear it, he’s dreaming of owls.
School is a bitch the next day.
Peter groans, keeping his head down as he shuffles from class to class, but every student is doing the same thing. He doesn’t remember anything from last night but May had told him over breakfast that Flash had driven him home and been- a real gentleman, according to her.
Peter wants to say thank you.
He’d also really like it if he and Flash could become friends. Proper friends. Not just ones who tease each other and compete whenever they can.
He searches for him over lunch, and spots him outside on the bleachers watching football. He shivers in the cold, but manages to clamber over to his bench and sit a little way off from him. “Hey,” he calls over the wind. Flash looks up, his eyes widen a little, and he quickly looks away: nodding.
“Parker.”
“My Aunt told me what you- I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Not a big deal.” Flash nods, and Peter sighs.
He slides along the bench until they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. He can feel Flash stiffen, but he stays persistent. “I’m serious, man,” Peter starts softly, “you keep doing these things for me and it’s awesome, and we should- we should be- I don’t know,” he ducks his head, feeling shy and a little stupid, “friends or somet-“
“Do you even remember last night?” Flash asks, less snappish than before.
Peter blushes. “Not really, but I mean- of course it was you. You have my back when it matters and I just want you to know that I really appreciate-”
Warm, soft lips press against his own.
And then just as quickly, pull away. Peter freezes. He stares, uncomprehendingly at Flash, eyebrows furrowing together. “I…” What- wait what-
Flash swallows hard, and half looks like he wants to run away, but he doesn’t. He turns to face Peter head on and says through gritted teeth: “I like you, alright…dipshit.”
Oh. Oh. Well that’s…unexpected. Peter licks his lips. Flash tastes like tea. “I’ve never been kissed before,” Peter muses, replaying it in his head. It was kinda nice.
Flash looks disturbed by this. “Fuck, Peter, I’m sorry-“
A little tingle runs through him when Flash says his first name. And then, because it’s cold, because Flash tastes like tea, and because it felt good- Peter leans in to kiss him. It’s clumsier than when Flash did it, a little eager and messy, but then Flash’s hands come and cradle his jaw- they guide him, and he finds a rhythm, slow and sweet.
When they pull away, Peter’s a little short of breath. “I liked that,” he whispers, leaning forward for another kiss-
Flash looks at him with eyes typically reserved for Spiderman youtube clips. Adoringly. “You can have as many as you want,” he promises, before tacking on with a grin: “moron.”
Peter almost wants to say your moron, but he thinks that might be too much for today.
Maybe tomorrow instead.
Read part 2 here.