#to quote Juno MacGuff: 'it would be friggin' sweet if no one hit me'
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can you do #11 for spideychelle plz
Thanks to both of you, Anons!!
11. Secret relationship
find light
Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word count: 13252
Summary:
MJ's got it bad for Peter Parker, but she's on track to be valedictorian while he sells weed at parties. Not the ideal person to get involved with if she wants to maintain her reputation as a serious academic. Solution? Conduct a relationship in secret until they graduate. But that only works for so long, and leaving high school behind isn't a guarantee that things will get easier.
Sheâs under no illusion about whether or not he actually quit smoking. When he speaks to her, thereâs no hint on his breath, but the scrappy black hoodie he wears almost every day reeks of cigarettes. He has his forearm braced on the locker next to hers as he leans in. The only thing MJâs ever felt before thatâs anything like this is fear. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, sliding her textbooks carefully into her backpack behind her sketchbook. Associating with Peter Parker would be as normal or sane as walking into the shop class and gripping a live wire. Sure, she hears about himâwho doesnât?âbut they do not interact. They do not talk, they do not meet. Though theyâre both students at Midtown, their trajectories do not cross.
What she last heard was that he went cold turkey. Thatâs just a highly unlikely story for the guy who gets suspended weekly for walking down the hall with a cigarette dangling from his lips and sells dime bags at parties, making him simultaneously the most popular and most shadowy person in the room. The sanctity of her grades, among other reasons, is why sheâs never approached him.
Because thereâs no number of Aâs thatâll make her stop finding him sexy, MJ slams the door of her locker.
Itâs surprising to her when he jumps. But he doesnât walk away.
âSo,â he says, âlike Iâm saying, the project⌠Hey, asshole!â
MJâs so wound up that sheâs not sure how she manages to sigh when Peterâs attention is completely diverted by one of his buddies striding past, stopping so the two of them can perform some stupid handshake. They start talking about an upcoming house party and she decides sheâs not a big enough idiot to keep standing there waiting for Peter Parker to remember she exists. Sheâs pretty sure he just found out when they were assigned this joint Chemistry project. Were this a different kind of joint project, she bets heâd show a little more interest. Sheâll reward the teeny-tiny bit of initiative he demonstrated by coming up to her at all by doing the whole project herself. Heâs astoundingly intelligent, she knows that, but heâs not the most reliable groupmate and sheâd rather do double the work than receive half the grade. Itâs senior year and she canât afford that.
âNo, wait, wait, wait,â he begs, briefly grabbing her upper arm when she turns to walk away. Apparently, his friend takes this as his dismissal and itâs Peter and MJ, alone again by her locker.
âIâll do it,â she says. âDonât worry about it.â
âWhat?â
âThe project.â
âShit! Would you? Thatâd be great!â He beams, then laughs at her expression. So it was a joke. Wow, nice one. âNo, seriously, I really want to work with you.â
âNo, seriously, Iâve got this,â MJ pushes back, feeling warmer the longer they talk, not only because he made a joke at her expense. His eye contact isnât great, but when their gazes connect, it scrambles her brain.
âWell, it was assigned to both of us.â
âAnd both of us know whoâs going to do it and whoâs going to flake out.â
She stares at him in astonishment. She didnât mean to say that out loud, itâs just that sheâs never been fought on project responsibility before. Doesnât Peter know her as the Girl Who Gets Good Grades? AKA the least thrilling Stieg Larsson novel of all time. Even if he doesnât really register her presence as a classmate or a girl or a human being, she thought he would at least be familiar with the role she fills in their academic dystopia. If Midtown were an arrivals gate at the airport, sheâd head for the welcome sign reading âSmart Girlâ.
Peter laughs and it nearly sucks her in because itâs not designed to mess with her this time, but she walks swiftly away from him instead. No more touching. It feels too⌠unexpected.
âGood talk, Jones!â he calls jubilantly after her.
Nobodyâs ever addressed her solely by her last name before. It sends a flutter through her as she slips outside.
â
âOk,â Peter says the next day, spinning a chair around backwards and dropping into it. âWhat are we doing?â
MJ knows what sheâs doingâreading Midnightâs Children in the library over lunch hour. His arrival is so visually demanding that sheâs almost startled by her own proof of a sandwich in one hand and the novel in the other; beyond the disruption of sitting with her, he folds his arms on the chairback and she stares. Heâs pushed up the sleeves of that trademark hoodie to expose his forearms, but whatâs holding her gaze a moment too long are his hands. The rather beautiful fingers. The scarred knuckles that are his souvenir for beating the shit out of Brad Davis in the student parking lot last spring. She didnât see the fight and doesnât know which of the rumours about what started it is the truth. When it comes to Peter, she tries to put any information out of her mind.
âAbout what? The project?â
âYeah,â he replies, ostensibly in complete earnestness. âWhere are we at?â
âLike, how much have I done?â
âNo, I mean whoâs doing what?â
âIf you really want to help, Iâll send you jot notes when Iâm done and you can do the PowerPoint,â she offers sceptically.
âCan do. But what about the rest of it? Letâs start working on it.â
Finally, MJ slips the piece of paper thatâs her current bookmark between Rushdieâs pages, setting down her leisure reading and her ham-on-sourdough.
âWhat is this?â
âThis is the library,â Peter tells her with slow sarcasm. âSorry, I thought youâd been in here before.â
âWhat are you doing?â
âTrying to pull my weight, if youâll ever fucking let me.â
His toneâs not annoyed, itâs almost teasing. All she wants to do is press her hands to her temples and think through how she might have fallen into an alternate reality housing a studious Peter Parker.
âWhy?â
âAll these questions! Because thatâs what you do with projects, right? Teacher assigns them, you do them, grades and shit���?â Heâs motioning with one hand to emphasize the oncoming flow of stages that seem to continue past âgrades and shit.â
âI just didnât thinkâŚâ
âOh, I know you havenât been thinking about me.â Disconcertingly, he throws her a wink. âYou were expecting a deadbeat partner.â
His words, not hers.
âFine,â MJ agrees, to get past that wink. âLetâs go over to the computers and start researching.â
âHell yeah.â
She doesnât glare at him for his oddness, but once heâs seated next to her at the computer bay, she wishes she had. Maybe he wouldâve sat farther away. Heâs shorter than she is, and yet he kicks his legs out beneath the table and somewhere under there they grow long enough that hers are in constant danger of brushing them or twining with them orâthe thought that horrifies her mostâhaving their shoes knock. Shoe-to-shoe contact strikes her as something exceedingly flirtatious, like sending sexts through Morse code. She tucks her feet under her chair and crosses her ankles while they work. Which they do, in unanticipated companionableness. MJ ignores every one of her urges that tell her to slip her fingers through his where he cups the mouse, to lean in and grab his shoulder for balance as she looks at the website he found, to drag her chair close enough to wrap her arms around his waist, holding tight to the sweater that, logically, she never wants to touch because it stinks.
When lunch hour ends, she finds herself flustered and relieved.
âIt was cool hanging out,â are Peterâs words of farewell.
Hanging out? Did they hang out? MJâs almost too disoriented to find her locker and stow the remains of her lunch before her next class.
â
He keeps turning up. To their Chem class? Almost never. But her locker transforms into some kind of Peter Parker homing device without her knowledge and now heâs always swinging by. One time, her eyes dart back and forth from his face to the cigarette tucked (jauntily, brazenly, andâit must be saidâidiotically) behind his ear. A teacher spies it too and Peter gets detention just standing there. His broad grin at Mr. Dell and the, âAw, man, really?â he jokingly demands put MJâs heart in a hammock, swaying wildly and beating in question as to why only this boy has a smile like that.
She seeks solace in Cindy. Initially, MJ divulges very little and her friend assumes that her current daftness is the result of struggles to find citable sources for her Chemistry project.
âWhoâs your partner again?â Cindy asks over lunch.
âPeter Parker,â MJ says quietly. She tries to let her hair hang forward to shield her blush, but sheâs far too slow.
âOh, MJ.â
âDonât.â
âMJ. You like Peter Parker? But heâsââ
âI know.â
âDamn,â Cindy says, which is more than enough to communicate how MJ happens to feel and also far too little to provide any clue about what to do. This is not the suffering she usually expects with group projects.
âHeâs a smoker,â her friend points out, trying to be helpful by stating the most obviously off-putting thing about the guy.
âI heard heâs trying to quit.â
âI heard that too. Apparently, he has nicotine patches in his locker. And mints.â
MJ just buries her face in her arms and groans.
âIâm so screwed,â she says, voice muffled. âHe wonât leave me alone.â
âMaybe he likes you.â
MJ laughs sharply into her sleeve.
âMaybe he likes you,â Cindy repeats gently.
âI canât.â
âI know, babe.â Her friend squeezes her shoulder. ��But you could.â
She lifts her head.
âI couldnât.â
âYou could,â Cindy refutes, gaining momentum. âYou could do the project and then, you know, do Peter.â
âShhh!â
Theyâre eating in the cafeteria and have the table to themselves, but still.
âJust a hook-up,â her friend says, as though she has any more experience with casual hook-ups than MJ does. Theyâre both firmly at zero.
âThat would be insane. No. Iâm not just going to hook up with my Chem partner. Would you hook up with your Chem partner?â
Infuriatingly, Cindy seems to truly consider this question. MJ wishes sheâd focus more on the rest of the conversation.
âNo. I got paired up with Betty. I find her too adorable to be hot.â
âIt was a rhetorical question.â
âWell, if Betty ever asks you about me, you know what to say to let her down easy.â
MJ rolls her eyes.
âWhat if Peter keeps talking to me after we hand in our report and do our presentation?â
âDepends if youâre planning to nail him before or after.â
âIâm not planning to nail him at all.â
âYou should at least plan a little. Use a condom.â
âCindy, for real.â
âFor real,â her friend insists, twisting to give her a hard stare. âYou already got your college acceptance letters and youâre not going to let your grades drop just because you sleep with this one guy! You can do this!â
âHe deals drugs,â MJ reminds her in a hushed voice.
âNot hard drugs. And youâre on academic decathlon. Lots of people have extracurriculars!â
âI canât believe you. If this were the other way around, you would be freaking out over the very idea of being with someone like him.â
âI enjoy pushing you into things while I remain safely on the sidelines,â Cindy agrees, smiling brightly.
âThis is terrible, but, if anybody found out⌠my parents, any of the teachers⌠his reputation would reflect badly on me.â
âYouâre right,â her friend says. MJ drops her face back into her arms. âYouâre gonna do it, arenât you?â
MJ groans.
â
On the day of their presentation, Peterâs late, but heâs there. MJ perks up in her seat, which makes her frustrated with herself. He doesnât even get detention for his lack of punctuality. She guesses this is because he so rarely decides to come to class at all that the staff donât want to discourage him any further.
They arenât up right away and their lab benches are a few apart (everyone organized alphabetically by last name), but he turns around to glance at her more than once. No backpack, but he has a binder with him, from which many loose pages poke. As long as a couple of those are their report, sheâs thrilled. Although, she did also do the entire thing herself just in case. She almost feels bad for not trusting him. Then again, he was late and watching the clock stressed her out.
When they go up to present, he slaps his papers on the front desk and flips a red USB out of his sleeve like heâs flicking open a switchblade.
âPowerPoint,â he explains to the unnerved expression MJ can feel on her face. âYou didnât think I forgot, did you? If I can justâŚâ
And he slips behind her to plug it into the port, sweatshirt brushing her back. Despite the self-assurance she has in the quality of her work, speaking in front of the class always makes her feel slightly ill, so sheâs backed up nearly to the defunct blackboard when Peter makes his move around her. He could be going behind her to try to be subtle about the setup. Yeah, thatâs probably why he didnât cross in front where thereâs so much more space. He smells intensely of the outdoors, like grassâgrass grassâand she inhales it the whole presentation long. What was he doing before this? Playing tackle football where the fieldâs just been mowed? MJ delivers her portion of the information somewhat robotically, but Peter surprises her by darting around, making bonds out of chalk to illustrate the finer points of this organic chemistry assignment. His lines are brisk and sure and she stares along with the rest of the class. Yes, she does.
âThat was a novelty,â he says, suddenly at her side so theyâre walking through the door together when class is over.
âWhich part?â
She glances back to see Cindy making an âokâ sign at her, looking from Peter to MJ. MJ waves her off, trying not to get ungainly as Peter stays with her. Seems as though heâs intending to walk her all the way to her locker. She has no idea where his is, or what he keeps in it. What she can most easily picture is Benderâs locker from The Breakfast Club.
âOh, the whole thing. Having the entire class looking at us, getting time to talk, standing up there with you.â He elbows her arm gently while he grins and MJ gives the most pitiful laugh. Heâs impossible.
âYou were weirdly impressive.â
Peter jogs ahead, then turns to walk backwards, watching her face as he continues to grin.
âAw, Iâm flattered. You think we did ok?â
MJâs ready to say that of course they did when a little freshman darts down the hall. Instinctively, she reaches out and grips Peterâs wrist. Her hand slides as he halts. Their palms meet. His fingers flex around hers for a second before she shakes him off.
âYeah,â she says. âYeah, I think we did fine.â
He nods, now walking along at her side.
âGood.â
They get to her locker and Peter still doesnât leave. She attempts to ignore him as she trades her Chem books for Geography, but he makes it difficult, pushing her locker door open all the way and producing a stick of chalk that she realizes he mustâve tucked into his pocket after writing on the board.
âWhat are you doing?â she asks when he blocks her view of the door with his arm.
âShhh.â
He steps away after a few seconds and she sees that heâs vandalized her little magnetic chalkboard with âPP wuz here.â
âI need to get new initials,â he says thoughtfully.
MJ scoffs.
âWhat you need is a better understanding of personal property.â
âDonât worry, Jones. Chalk wipes right off,â he informs her, like sheâs unfamiliar with the substance.
She shakes her head in annoyance.
âBut this you better be careful about,â Peter says, lowering his voice abruptly (goosebumps for MJ) as he deposits the chalk in the door tray that holds her Chapstick and a broken magnet. âI stole it, so itâs contraband. If anyone asks, you say youâre holding it for a friend.â
He gives her an irresistible conspiratorial smile and leaves her at her locker.
MJ doesnât touch the chalk. She doesnât touch what he wrote either.
âHell,â she mutters.
â
âYour parents think youâre at my place and my parents will not be worrying about where I am until four in the morning. The greatest benefit of having an older sister,â Cindy lectures, âis that she broke our parents in on abandoning the midnight curfew.â
Still, MJâs nervous. Theyâre heading to a party at Flash Thompsonâs after the semi-formal dance. The lights on the bus are bright and MJâs feet are tired from her two-inch heels, but she wonât be taking her shoes off on public transit. Uh uh.
âYou just better stay with me,â she warns her friend.
âWeâll be inseparable until you shoo me away so you and Peter can be alooone.â
âShut up. He wasnât at the dance.â
âAll that means is heâs more of a jeans-and-sweatshirt kinda guy. I bet heâll be there. You wanna bet?â
âNo, I wanna wimp out and go home,â MJ admits.
âIâm not letting you!â Cindy says cheerily, rocking into MJâs side. âItâll be good for you to see him outside of school. Maybe he becomes totally unappealing and you squash this crush like a bug.â
âMaybe.â
Cindy is a steadfast companion as they do a loop of the main floor at the Thompson residence. MJ gingerly carries a Solo cup Flash handed her, but she doesnât drink. She has no idea whatâs in it. Sheâs wary of both Flashâs taste and the sad mustache heâs trying to grow before graduation. Although sheâs been to a few house parties over her high school years, arriving in a â60s-style burnt-orange minidress and heels makes her feel strange, obnoxious, and watched, even though everyone else is also wearing their nice clothes from the dance. Minus Flash, who has changed into party attire that strikes a balance between retro aerobics-wear and spring break in Florida.
Itâs an hour before she concedes to herself that Peter isnât here. She leaves Cindy by Betty and goes to the bathroom. Peeing, she checks her texts, which is dumb because thereâs no way sheâll see what she wants to see; he doesnât have her number. Working up her courage as she washes and dries her hands, MJ wanders through the big family room at the rear of the house. Thereâs a sudden burst of laughter as the back door opensâsome people are out drinking and smoking on the patio, and then Peterâs stepping inside right in front of her.
âOh,â she says.
âMichelle. Hey.â
His eyes are red-rimmed and itâs not from crying. She catches the movement of him slipping a lighter back into the pocket of his jeans. Thereâs something wrong with her that she finds him hot even in this state, isnât there? Itâs his looseness. The extra crinkle around his eyes as he squints tight to smile at her. He could be a cornered grizzly bear. Thatâs how much she feels the visceral impulse to not be around him. He will snarl and swipe and she will suffer. Rather than returning to Cindy, MJ shifts her weight, wanting to remove her shoes so she can step down and closer to Peter.
âHi.â
âHi.â
âHi,â she repeats, rigid with the fear of her own potential actions. It makes him laugh.
âYou wanna go downstairs? I heard thereâs pizza.â
âYes.â It comes out strong.
It shouldnât be this easy to go with him, to let him lead because he knows where the door to the basement is and she doesnât. There should be checkpoints that ask if sheâs sure she wants to proceed. Peter bounds down ahead of her and, at the bottom, turns to look at her. His expression is confused, then, quickly, so awed that it makes her blush and wonder if SofĂa Vergara or some other bombshell is coming down the stairs behind her. But MJâs own soles are the only sound against the carpeted hush.
âYou look so gorgeous. Damn.â
The words could be meant only for himself except that he waits until sheâs down the stairs and next to him to say them.
âYou always look great,â he goes on before she can sever the intimate thread of the moment with a flippant remark about the male gaze equating beauty with value. âFuck, isnât time funny? I swear I was watching you walk down here for, like, an hour.â
Youâre stoned, she wants to remind him. Why bother? Being compelled to state the obvious would only make her seem equally impaired.
âYou wanna hang out with me?â MJ asks instead. This settingâthe TV left on and a pile of pizza boxes on the sleek glass table the deep sectional curves aroundâseems more suited to it than Midtownâs library.
âYeah.â He smiles.
MJ texts Cindy to let her know where sheâs gone, then Peter eats pizza and MJ takes her heels off with a groan of pleasure that makes him sit up alertly before slumping back with a laugh. Everything makes him laugh. Missing his mouth with the pizza, the dreary Jason Statham movie they donât bother changing the channel from, and MJ. So many times, MJ. Her dry humour rocks his THC-coated world and some of her horror at the evils of recreational marijuana use vanishes because heâs just so sweet like this, heâs so friendly. Somehow, he starts asking questions about the sketchbook he noticed she carries at school and, magically, thereâs a pen in her hand and sheâs doodling from his wrist up his forearm, roughing out the beginnings of a sleeve tattoo from the kooky ideas that stream from his lips. He watches her silently when she asks him to quit jerking his arm around and then it gets really quiet, apart from the occasional explosion onscreen. There are windows high up in the walls, level with the ground outside, and night sounds pulse in. Noises that are frogs and bugs but that, from childhood, MJ has always associated with the distant jingle of stars.
âI have to go now, Peter,â she murmurs when the movieâs over and he has his head resting back against the couch with his eyes closed. She collects her shoes and makes to climb over his legs, always sprawled straight out, but he catches her hand in his slack, warm grip.
MJ stares at his hand around hers and Peter opens his eyes and he stares at their hands too. An imagined scene of a haybale being pitched into a barnâs loft comes to mind at the feeling inside her chest, the sudden upward heave of her heart. She leans back and he sits forward, willingly releasing her when she half-turns away from him and grabs an empty beer bottle from the table. She lays it on its side and gives it a spin. While itâs still slowing, MJ stops it so it faces him. She can see Peterâs chest moving as he breathes, glancing from the bottle up to her eyes, probably trying to gauge her intentions. Thinking very little and feeling so much fear and want and freefall, she rests her knee on the couch between his splayed thighs and clutches the front of his hoodie in a fist thatâs almost numb at the end of her arm. His eyes are locked on her mouth when she leans down to kiss him softly.
Peterâs tongue slipping into her mouth wakes her vagina up instantly.
âUhmm,â she moans, parting her lips more and inexpertly attempting to copy what heâs doing because the pressure and the occasional sucking of her tongue are turning her on swiftly and utterly and she wants him this turned on.
His hands hardly touch her hips and sheâs scrambling onto his lap, shoes cast to the floor. Peter adjusts her, lifting from below the highest part of her thigh and pulling her forward so she canât fall backwards off the couch. She supposes. Her headâs hazy with the green-pepper taste of his mouth and the boy-smell of his skin. He seems hesitant about putting his hands any higher, since her already short skirt has hiked up around her hips with her legs straddling him, but then his palms land on her ass, over her underwear. They break the kiss, panting across each otherâs tongues as MJ rocks her hips ahead and Peterâs steady, shaky hands press her against his hard groin. He makes a wild, desperate sound at her most tentative forward nudge.
Sheâs wet through her underwear, she knows it, but it feels so good to rub herself against the front of his jeans, knowing that she gave him that erection. His fingers caress the back of her neck, then dig up into her hairline as he Frenches her with the furious, winding nonsense of a rabid animal.
âAh!â she gasps, clipping his tongue with her teeth as he tries to pull her in again and deeper. âAah!â
He shifts both hands back down to her ass and steers her grinding, forcing her faster when the pitch of her voice climbs.
âGod,â Peter groans into her throat when she stretches her neck, face naturally tipping upwards. âFuck yes.â
Heâs damp with sweat across the nape of his neck and down between the mounded muscle of his back where she tucks her hands. MJ drags against him until the entire inside of her body feels like itâs had tingling mouthwash poured into it and shaken around, sparkling, bliss like the scrape of a blade without puncture. She cries out, comes, then cries out again, hugging him close around the neck with her eyes clamped shut. Peterâs orgasm noise is a grunting huff and MJ draws back in time to watch his face. It looks as though his expressionâs trying to melt right off his features, like she could thrust a spatula under his skin and lift his whole face off like a crĂŞpe. She feels terrifically powerful.
After a minute of them shuddering against each other, she struggles back to her feet, feeling like someoneâs grabbed her and spun her a million times. Dizzy with how fast it happened. That it did happen. Peter gives her a smirk full of the secret they now share because, yes, this will have to be a secret. She assumes he knows that.
Standing, he pulls the front of his baggy sweatshirt down to hide his crotch. MJ puts her shoes on and waits silentlyâbrain buzzingâuntil he evidently understands that she wants him to go ahead of her. She has no interest in proceeding him up the stairs with the sodden underwear beneath her minidress. Her first priority after leaving this house and going back to Cindyâs is to get into her clean pajamas. When Peter turns and ducks in to kiss her after climbing to only the first stair, sheâs startled but reciprocates, though the rush of getting off with him is being replaced by a different, more anxious rush as they prepare to rejoin the party. MJ nearly loses her footing at the realization of how easily they couldâve been caught. Jesus. This is exactly why Peter Parker is the guy for a hookup. A repetition is so inadvisable that heâll never suggest it. She canât be messing around in classmatesâ basements, taking these risks. Itâs not what a smart girl does.
âWhaâs happeninâ in the basement?â a guyâs slurred voice asks the second Peter opens the door.
âPizza,â he says simply, and they escape.
MJ walks quickly away from the scene of the, well, not crime, but very private indiscretion, hunting for Cindyâs iridescent white dress in the family room, kitchen, and living room, where most people are still gathered. Disconcertingly, Peter hurries along at her side. Sheâs certain she feels the ghost of his hand on her waist when she stops suddenly to avoid the slosh of someoneâs drink across her path. What is he doing? Doesnât he see that theyâre like spies, that they canât be spotted together or theyâll be in danger of someone finding out? The story of her reckless kiss and the impulsive grinding it led to are in her every feature. They must be.
Aha, Cindy!
MJ taps her friendâs shoulder and leans in quickly.
âIâm ready to go,â she says.
Though sheâs angled her back to shun Peter (for their own good), she watches her friendâs eyes move from her face to something behind her and knows he must be standing there.
âOk, weâll go right now,â Cindy agrees, reaching down and clasping her hand.
She tosses Abe and Betty a quick goodbye and they hustle to the door like the mice in Cinderella. Which reminds MJ to slip her shoes on. Just before they exit, she flings a glance back into the room and sees Peter laughing with his friend Ned, a cigarette already tucked behind his ear. Good.
â
MJ thinks Cindyâs asleep when her friend rolls over and asks what happened.
âHe didnât hurt you, did he?â
âNo,â MJ assures her.
âYou came out of nowhere and you had a weird look on your face.â
âAre you saying you donât like my face?â
Cindy draws a limp arm out of the blankets and presses her hand to MJâs cheek, lightly shoving her face away in joking response.
âBut what went down?â she persists, then yawns. âYou were with him, werenât you? You donât expect me to believe that he just came up behind you the second you came to get me.â
âNo, I was with him.â
âAnd?â
She still feels it somehow, the unexpected, exhilarating kick of Peter kissing her and gathering her close and wanting her like that. Before he complimented her on the stairs, MJ hadnât even known he was aware of her in that way, as anything more than a reliable project partner. If she reveals anything to Cindy, well, itâs like giving up something precious, no matter how much she trusts her friend. There wonât be a repeat of tonight. Sheâll delicately wrap the memory in mental tissue paper, storing it neatly, preserving it well. Sheâll be able to walk down the hall at Midtown, see Peter, and know she hit that. Non-penetratively. It counts. They are Pluto and Mercury. They do not talk, they do not meet. Their trajectories crossing was a once-in-an-infinity event that will not reoccur.
âWe talked and⌠nothing happened.â
âWell, good,â Cindy decides. âI was thinking about you after you sent me that text and I thoughtââ She yawns again, triggering an echo from MJ. ââprobably not the best idea. Heâs just so unpredictable. You deserve more than that.â
âYeah.â
âMan. Peter Parker.â
âPeter Parker.â
â
She doesnât greet him warmly, or at all, when he returns to her locker. He doesnât push and he doesnât chase, though he definitely has the charisma for it if he ever felt like channeling that shit. Focused, his sweet charm could set a girl on fire like a kid roasts an anthill with a magnifying glass. Honestly, MJâs surprised Peter doesnât have a girlfriend, except that he probably prefers not being accountable to anyone but himself. Sheâs the same.
Even congratulating herself is stale by the day he approaches her again, thereâs been such a gap between Flashâs basement and this Thursday afternoon. Sheâs waiting for her brother to pick her up and Peter lobs the cigarette he was smoking away. It streams thin smoke and rolls from the pavement into the grass.
âThatâs littering,â MJ tells him.
For a moment, he just stares back.
âSo, whatâs up?â
âWaiting for my brother.â
A smile flashes and dies on his face.
âWhatâs going on?â
âNot much,â she says in the most casual tone, not looking at him at all. Her postureâs defensive. If someone walks out of the building and sees them, she wants them to find it impossible that theyâre viewing Michelle Jones and Peter Parker talking. She wants them to believe their eyes are deceiving them.
His laugh is breathy but brutal.
âI did not think you were this girl.â
âWhat girl?â MJ darts an angry, sideways look at him. She wonât tolerate any âyouâre not like other girlsâ bullshit, even if heâs planning to turn it around and use it as an insult.
âSomeone who messes around at parties and then acts like we donât know each other.â
âI canât honestly say that we do.â
âOk, smartass,â Peter says sharply. She sees him dig in his pocket and extract a pack of cigarettes. He shakes his lighter out into his palm first, then plucks one free.
MJ looks firmly away from him before speaking.
âI heard you quit.â
âHabits, you know?â
âNo.â
âNo?â he presses. She hears the sound of him lighting up, like a piece of paper being ripped. Schik, schik, then the tear that goes right through. The soft blow of his first polluted exhalation. âStudyingâs not a habit? Doing well in schoolâs not a habit? You could just quit?â
âThose things arenât bad for you,â MJ informs him blandly, scanning the intersection a block down for her brotherâs car.
âSomething or somebody taught you to ditch the guy you fooled around with and thatâs been bad for me, so Iâd appreciate a little sympathy.â
She glances at him again, dropping her gaze to the motion of his thumb drumming his cigarette, tapping away the building ash. When he brings it back to his mouth for another drag, his cheeks pull in and further exaggerate the criminally-well-defined line of his jaw. MJ exhales with him.
âI didnât ditch you, we ditched each other. Mutual ditching,â she explains. âI figured youâd want the same thing.â
âI donât actually remember you ever asking me what Iâd want.â
âYeah, well, itâs done.â
âYou think so?â he asks thoughtfully. He puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and traps his cigarette between his lips as he wanders over to the butt of the last one and stamps on it. She frowns in disbelief when he picks it up and takes it to the trash can.
MJ lifts her courage like she lifts her heavy backpack when sheâs carting all of her textbooks home at once. Figuratively, she bends from the knees.
âYou just want me to fuck you so that you can do the ditching after that. Iâm not interested,â she says coolly.
âUh, you kissed me. If anyoneâs suppressing a desire to fuck, itâs you, Jones.â
âSo you donât want to fuck me?â
Who is she? She feels as large and obvious as Lincoln in his Memorial saying these words to Peter Parker, with his shifting eye contact and his nicotine hands.
"Iâd like to fuck you,â he says, breathing out smoke and incredible nonchalance, âand Iâm really into you and would definitely be down for you to stop acting like I ceased to exist the second I came in my pants for you. I donât do that for just anybody.â
âJesus, Parker, shut up,â she hisses, stunned. Violated. Aroused. No.
Peter abandons his easy posture and storms right up to her, turning his head at the last second to puff his mouthful of foul air over his shoulder. Minimal decency.
âHey, if youâd told me that I was signing up for a one-off by going down to Thompsonâs fucking basement with you, maybe I wouldâve said no!â
âReally?â MJ blurts, too invested in the answer for it to be wise to ask.
âProbably!â
âIf youâre so mad at me, then why donât you just leave me alone?â
âBecause I canât! I canât,â he says more quietly. He grips his hair with the same hand that holds his cigarette and she worries that heâll burn himself, but whatever. âI happen to really like you, ok?â
She spots her brotherâs car pulling into the school and immediately distances herself from Peter. They hold each otherâs eyes as she gets in.
âWere you smoking?â Louis asks her while she buckles her seatbelt. âYou better not let Mom smell that.â MJ rolls her eyes.
âNo.â
âGood. Donât start. That shitâs addictive.â
She looks out her window to see Peter still watching her as Louis puts the car in gear and they drive away.
â
If it would be weakness to message him on Facebook late that night and send him her number, then MJ is weak.
â
Their happy medium is smiling at each other in the halls, stopping by for a very short chat when they happen to be near each otherâs locker, and making out fiercely behind the magazine shelf in Midtownâs library. MJ has this all under control. Sheâs admitted to herself that sheâs still attracted to Peterâif there was any doubt that what happened in Flashâs basement had done anything but strengthen that attractionâand that, as long as they keep things fairly low-key, sheâs curious. Thereâs more sheâd like to do with him, but she doesnât want the pressure or anxiety of anyone knowing whatâs going on, not even Cindy. The judgement will kill what they have and what they have is chemistry in and out of the classroom. The surge MJ feels when Peter presses her back against the end of a bookshelf is incomparable.
He'd rather they were public, she knows. Fortunately, he doesnât force her to break down point by point why it wouldnât be a good idea. Doing that would teach her exactly how much she could hurt him and she doesnât need that guilt. She likes Peter and she likes fooling around with him, but what she really likes is not getting caught. That, and knowing that she can stop this whenever she wants. The fact that heâs really into her means heâll listen to what she wants from this non-relationship. MJ tries not to think of herself as manipulative, simply as someone whoâs attempting to broaden their horizons in a closed-course physical agreement. She needs to believe in her own agency, especially since she saw how fast things can spiral when they kissed for the first time.
All theyâve done at school is kiss. Once, he accosted her at the end of the day on her way to decathlon practice and got his hands on her ass before they heard footsteps. They were separated, though MJ was sweating like a fiend, when Betty appeared. Peterâs presence surprised her and he had to lie about how he was considering rejoining the decathlon team to explain why he was nearby at that time of day. MJâs glad it was a lie. Actually having him in one of her extracurriculars would be distracting and she needs to compartmentalize. Besides the Chem presentation, the little slice of her life she spends with Peter and the much larger slice thatâs for school wonât overlap. Chemâs their only class together and they donât share any friends, just acquaintances from decathlon.
Except Peter asks where she lives and it changes everything.
Technically, MJâs aware that itâs not exactly an inspired idea to give her address to a small-time drug dealer. She doesnât know what the precise consequences could be, but thatâs the point! Control, good. Unknowns, bad. Still, she figures that Peterâs also just a seventeen-year-old like her. Heâs smart, heâs cute, his hoodie stinks like smokeâexcept at parties, when it stinks like pot. His suspensions, aside from the Brad Davis incident, have been for dumb shit. He canât be totally irresponsible, totally untrustworthy, or Midtown would expel him. Peter seemed to abandon his unofficial experiment on how far white male privilege would protect him after purpling Bradâs cheek and shredding the skin above his eyebrow. (She heard Brad got stitches, but the whole thing was covered by a gauze pad when he came back to school.)
But Peter makes her want things and it turns out, one of those things is wanting to know what he plans to do with her address. The afternoon sheâs at home and hears clanging on the fire escape, sheâs sure itâs him before she sticks her head out a window and sees him looking up at her from a story down.
âOh, good,â he calls up. âI didnât know which floor you were on!â
âWhat are you doing?! How did you reach the ladder?â
The ladder, which is tucked up eight feet from street level. The ladder, with its protective plate to prevent unauthorized users from touching the rungs for another three feet.
âUh, jumped!â
âThatâs all you have to say?â
âWhat else did you want? Knock knock?â
MJ rolls her eyes and retreats inside, where she drops the annoyed act and starts chipping at her flaking terracotta-coloured nail polish, heart racing as she secretly hopes she hasnât scared him off. She paces, then strides to the living room, with its tall window that opens onto the fire escape Peterâs currently scaling. She turns her back for a second and, suddenly, his voice is much nearer.
âHey,â he says, loudly through the glass. She spins around and he waves, smile lopsided and sweet.
A marble seems to fall down her throat and go swirling around her stomach because thereâs a motion inside her that veers from ecstatic to terrified. Making up her mind, she crosses to the window and pries it up.
âWhat are you doing here?â MJ demands.
He looks confused by the question.
âThis is where you live.â
âNuh uh,â she says when he makes to swing his leg over and enter. âThe sweatshirt is not coming inside. Youâre not leaving the rank scent of that thing for my parents to smell when they get home.â
âParents arenât home? Huh,â Peter says, a high, sarcastic, and thoroughly dangerous noise with the way it makes her body react. Her brain starts trying to convince her itâs go time.
He behaves enough to remove his sweatshirt and knot the sleeves around the fire escape railing. Even takes his shoes off. If he behaved a little better, she wouldnât see more than half of his bare back when he yanked the sweatshirt off and it dragged his grey t-shirt up with it. MJ has sat some major exams, held a chair during the most vomit-inducingly stressful decathlon tournaments, but seeing that much of Peterâs skin at one time is not something she feels equipped to contend with. Maybe she should tell him to put the sweatshirt back on. Maybe her parents donât know what marijuana blended with cigarettes smells like. Maybe the scent will leave the soft surfaces of their rugs and couch before tomorrow, when Louis gets home from spending the night at his buddyâs place. Too late, Peterâs inside, and while that sweatshirt might be oversized, the t-shirt has to have been improperly laundered at some point in its life because it is tight. Is MJ breathing hard? No, itâs just the effort to shut the window.
âSo, âsup? What do you want?â
Sonofabitch laughs at her question. Not a guffaw, just a private little chuckle, as he holds her eyes.
âI had a question,â he finally says.
âAbout Chem homework?â
âAbout parameters.â She waits for him to continue. âBecause, nobody knowing about you and me? I got that one.â
âThatâs an important one,â MJ agrees, watching this boy like heâs something that bites.
âAnd that I probably shouldnât try to do more than kiss you at school.â
Sheâs a little short of breath when she responds. Fucking window.
âProbably not.â
âBut then, other locations. See, thatâs where I get confused.â
âDo you?â
âI do, Jones,â Peter says solemnly, ducking his chin and looking up at her with eyes that promise, while he may be the sort that bites, he will most certainly not bite her. âI get confused.â
âLike Flashâs basement?â she checks, swallowing, gaze going from his mouth to his eyes.
âNo. I know the rules for Flashâs basement. Iâm a big fan of Flashâs basement.â He grins at her, a childâs smile. Innocent. âWhen I come here though, to your apartment, what happens? Do you have rules for this?â Peter takes a step towards her and they werenât too many steps apart in the first place. âTell me, Jones. Whatâs allowed?â
Her lips part for increased airflow. Heâs done nothingânothing but climb up the side of her building and request entryâbut she doubts his thoughts are as inactive as his bodyâs unconcerned posture.
âMy parents get off work in an hour. You shouldnât be here.â
âDefinitely not,â Peter agrees, still not moving. âIâm bad news.â
MJ edges towards him, eyes darting all over his face like crazy, and touches her mouth to his. She can feel him shudder. Then, Peter parts his lips wider and finds her tongue with his, everything staying slow, until theyâre gripping the back of each otherâs neck and clicking teeth in their haste. She feels gawky and foolish because the only kissing sheâs really gotten used to is the easier pace they practice in the library so neither of them gets too worked up before having to go to class. His hands shift to cup the sides of her face and suddenly she doesnât have to worry; heâs steering now. A moan quivers up her throat with his hold so tender and the motion of his tongue rough and confident. Thereâs an instinctual clench between her legs.
âCome with me,â she says, breaking away to lead him to the room right off the living room: her bedroom.
âMy clothes stink, right?â he teases when he follows her in. âSo I should probably make sure they donât touch anyââ
MJ kisses him quickly.
âDonât be an idiot.â
She means it to be funny and persuasive, but thereâs a moment where Peterâs expression freezes. His grin sours.
âNo. Michelle Jones bringing an idiot to her room? We couldnât have that.â
Her shoulders slump.
âI donât think youâre stupid,â she assures him.
âNobody does.â He smiles unconvincingly. âIf I were, Iâd be less disappointing. Nobodyâs surprised by a stupid fuck-up.â
âYouâre not disappointing. Or a fuck-up.â
Peter looks at her carefully for what feels like a long time.
âIf I had you, Iâd say I donât deserve you.â
âYou have me,â MJ counters. She kisses him hard, harder, until he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back. Sheâs proud of herself for saying, âI donât deserve you,â before he peels his t-shirt off.
She doesnât want him to think the sentimentâs just about his body, which it very well couldâve been because damn. He is cut. He is ripped. He is any other verb one could use to describe removing a coupon from a flyer. Peter must climb a lot of fire escapes to develop a body like that, reach for a lot of ladders to get those arms, and haul himself up and over a lot of railings to sculpt those abs. As long as he didnât get the practice by visiting other girlsâa quick knife of jealousy as he sits on her bed and she takes up the familiar position of straddling his thighsâsheâs grateful.
His hands push her t-shirt up enough to grasp her hips as they kiss. When he doesnât push for more, MJ takes a deep breath and sits back in his lap to remove her own shirt. Peterâs gaze is fast and eager and his palm is a revelation against the naked skin in the middle of her back. Sheâs only been touched like this in the pool, when Cindy would scramble onto her shoulders and theyâd team up against Cindyâs cousins for a chicken fight, both teams inevitably toppling with a splash. This doesnât feel like summer memories. Nor does the rigid bar in the front of Peterâs jeans that nudges between her legs when she shuffles forward.
To jump the hurdle of her inexperience, MJ decides to grope him where he obviously wants her. Itâs also somehow less forbidding to rest her hand against the denim of his jeans than the warm skin of his chest or abdomen. Peter groans into her mouth when she rubs up and down the length of him, wrist twisted to position her hand right. Ok, good, she thinks. Good. Before thirty seconds are up, heâs letting go of her back to open his fly and lower his zipper.
âIf you want to,â he breathes, eyes lowered like heâs either shy or staring at her chest.
MJ does want to, so she nods and grips him through his striped boxers. This is so much different. The warmth, the give at the head, and the feeling of him throbbing in response to her strokes prove that Peter truly does have a penis and itâs not just an object that she was fondling through his jeans. And, theoretically, he wants to put this penis inside her. What should be absolutely alien only makes her wetter. She kisses him to distract herself from the foreignness of holding this thing in her hand and recognizing how intimate it would be, connecting like that. Sliding her hand up, her palm runs across a damp patch in the cotton. Heâs turned on, like she is.
She hesitates for a second all the same. At Flashâs, she made him orgasm. She knew it at the time and he reminded her later, in the parking lot. When it happened, he had his jeans done up, plus, she was in the middle of her own climax. In her bedroomâwhere her brother coming in to look for something he lost or wake her up early on weekends like an asshole has been the only young male presence since she was 12âitâs different. Undone jeans is different. All the attention on what sheâs doing to him is different. So when Peterâs hands skim the waistband of her joggers, MJâs relieved.
âYes,â she says and closes her eyes, trying to remember to continue the handjob though her wrist is tired of this funky position, as his fingers slide under the elastic.
He has his fingertips on her abdomen, over the cotton of her underwear, then reversing, finding the edge of her underwear, and slipping beneath it. She takes in a deep breath as his hand moves lower.
And this. This is different from grinding at the party. Being stimulated by another personâs hand is strange and entirely unlike rubbing against his crotch, with the temperature of his skin less than that between the labia heâs fingering experimentally and the movements outside her control. Though MJ does buck reflexively when Peter curls a finger inside her a little ways.
âHey,â he whispers, choking when she remembers again about her part in this and squeezes his cock, âtell me how it feels.â
Instantly, MJ clams up. Sheâs a bird whoâs forgotten how its wings work mid-flight. Flailing, plummeting.
âUm. Fine.â
âFine? Dammit. Sorry, I was just trying to get you out of your head and I fucked up. Here,â Peter says, pulling his hand out and grabbing her thighs, âlie down instead.â
They disentangle themselves and lie down. Then, with clear thought, he drapes his body half-over hers, hovering. Her pillow props her head up high enough that she can glance at the swell in the front of his boxers. Shifting around has dragged his jeans down a bit.
âCan I put my hand here?â he asks, almost touching her stomach.
âMhmm.â
His palm lands, fingers tracing the strip of skin above her joggers.
âClose your eyes. I wonât make you talk.â
With that promise and his hand resting inside her pants but over her underwear for several minutes and the lazy kisses he places on her shoulder, itâs easier to accept the feelings that come. His fingers work slowly, skimming and dancing. Eyes shut, she remembers his fingers on a cigarette, a stick of chalk, propped over the back of a chair in the library. The realization that itâs those same fingers gently rolling her clit makes her gasp. Peter groans next to her head in response, exhalation blowing her hair against her ear, which tickles. She opens her eyes and takes a cautious peek at him. His gaze is hot when she meets it. He doesnât release her as he moves his hand lower to probe at her entrance again, only this time sheâs even wetter and heâs fucking staring at her, cheeks a feverish red. Rocking her hips to encourage him, she puts a palm on his chest and slides it down, touching every inch of skin from collarbones to navel before his boxers get in the way. The wet spot is cold, so she tries to grip a little lower when she takes him in hand again. He presses his forehead to her shoulder and moans.
Itâs so quiet, such a normal afternoon with the light fading and homework postponed, but Peter Parkerâs hips are hunched around hers like he wants to mount her and she can no longer feel any disparity between the heat of his fingers and the heat inside her exceptionally regular underwear. He adds pressure and she gasps, hips bucking off the mattress.
âShh, shhh,â he murmurs. âGod, youâre so gorgeous.â
âHeard that one before,â she says, then whimpers, sweating between her shoulder blades and behind her knees.
âShoulda brought my thesaurus.â
âPeter! Peter!â
His fingers arc into her hard and fast and she jerks her hand desperately up and down his dick. He swears with his lips pressed to her neck.
âNow youâre repeating yourself,â he recovers enough to taunt.
MJâs eyes slam shut as she concentrates on making his strokes work for her, but she doesnât let him off easy. Or, rather, she does, darting her hand down to flex her fingers around his balls, then pumping him rapidly so he never has a chance to catch his breath. Peter makes a noise like he was lying on a couch and a large dog jumped on his stomach out of nowhere. Itâs a good noise. MJ enjoys it almost as much as she enjoys the way he jams his thumb down on her clit when his climax hits and scrubs mercilessly until she cries out. With the temperatures matching up and the satisfying twitches and caresses of his fingers, her vagina seems to have accepted his hand as part of her body. It certainly constricts around his middle finger like itâs not allowed to go anywhere. Uh uh. Thatâs hers now.
âIf my sheets smell like smoke after this,â she pants as they lie together on their backs, âyour access to this location is revoked.â
âIâm tryinâ to quit.â
MJ wants to be supportive, but sheâs not sure she believes him.
â
She falls in love somewhere between Peter sneaking into prom to dance with her in the dark hall outside the gym where no one can see and graduation. It takes a long time for love to seem like a problem because what it feels like is the best thing sheâs ever experienced. The only thing sheâs ever felt such thorough ownership of. On four separate occasions, she almost tells Cindy. MJ starts to feel sorry for her friend that she doesnât know. Itâs neater than feeling sorry for herself because 98% of her time is spent wanting to hold Peterâs hand and only 2% is actually holding itânever for long, always in privateâor because she canât hug him after she crosses the stage at the rented convention centre to get the rolled up sheet of blank paper that they pretend is a diploma until the school mails out the real ones. Heâs not even in the building.
Thanks to his phenomenal performance on examsâbecause heâs gifted enough to figure out the material day-of, not because he comes to class or studiesâPeter is graduating high school. Unfortunately, his suspension, in tandem with the couple dozen detentions he earned this year, denies him the privilege of the ceremony. They arenât supposed to be on their phones while itâs happening, but MJ misses him and surreptitiously texts around the folds of her black grad gown. Apparently, what heâs decided to do with his day is get really fucking high and the couple texts he manages to send her in response donât make much sense.
She calls him afterwards, while her parents are talking to her teachers, everyone so happy to gush over the valedictorian (she saw the title coming from a long way away and gave the speech she prepared so many months ago that, by now, itâs lost all emotion). Peterâs voice is sickeningly lazy and also something she wants in her ear right now as she cuddles up to him. What MJ believes is that theyâre better together. Over the phone, he says he loves her. Stunned, she replies, âYou sound really far away,â and tries not to cry when she looks up and Cindy catches her eye from across the room. Sheâs just so happy. Everyone is just so happy.
Sheâs disappointed but not surprised when Peter defers his acceptance to Columbiaâwhere sheâll be attendingâto work for a year. His grades mean a more than respectable bursary haul and still, he needs money. His aunt needs money. Itâs an expensive city. MJ and Peter talk and settle on the idea that things can only be better for them now. The college wonât give a fuck about her dating life the way Midtown would have. They can have their relationship in the open, no longer ending every conversation slightly sad because coming together is wearing on them, way harder than walking away.
MJ calls Cindy, studying music, and sobs for half an hour after her first week of classes. School is going well, but she hates it. Her classes interest her, but she wants to skip them all. Peterâyes, Peter, yes, Peter Parkerâdidnât help her move into her residence like he said he would and she had to buy groceries alone and carry them back to this place that is not her home alone and what is she even doing who even is she and Peter, Peter, Peter, why canât he just be here when she needs him?
She bristles when Cindy expresses true sympathy for her heartbreak. Heartbreak? This isnât heartbreak. Heartbreak is for something thatâs over and MJâs relationship with Peter isnât over. She cries all over again, and more ragged, after she and Cindy fight and end their conversation with a terseness that is an unwelcome intruder on the friendliness, the sisterliness theyâve always had.
But then Peter texts her after 1am that heâs outside her building, MJ lets him in, and he holds her in his arms the way she remembers. Her scholarly prowess guaranteed her a dorm on a quiet floor with single rooms. It feels natural to use this gift for what it was intended. Not uninterrupted study, but losing her virginity. She loves him so muchâŚ
âŚand that certainty grows more confused with every thrust.
She tells him the look on her face when theyâre done is because sheâs feeling a lot. She is. Just not the things sheâs probably supposed to be feeling. Her feelings are prickly things, restless things. They toddle and swoop and disturb her peace as she tucks herself into bed and into Peterâs body. Against her cheek, his heart is steady. Is this all her? Is she crazy? Thereâs a black hoodie on the floor that wonât let her rest.
â
Things are on a definite uptick by the end of September. The nights grow deep and cold and velvety and the two of them stay out late. The stroll the familiar paths between the buildings of her campus with his arm up around her shoulders, playing with the string of her sweater; heâs trying to quit smoking again and needs something to twiddle between his fingers. Itâs dark where shadows slice away from the moon and security lights and MJ would like to melt down into water, spreading through these lanes, touching everything in this place thatâs becoming hers. Peter bobs up and kisses her temple. The world is for them.
He gives her a piggyback in her Spider-Man costume on Halloween. Over winter break, he casually admits to being Spider-Man and, hey, suddenly she gets additional wears out of that costume, putting it on every single time he says heâs coming over after that, just to mess with him. They end the year at the movies, kissing over their shared bag of popcorn at midnight (Peter ducks his head inside his sweatshirt to look at his phone screen and check the time). In January, it rains a lot, in February, it snows, and by the time the precipitationâs tapering off, sheâs survived year one at Columbia.
Peter starts his first year that fall under a cloud that tries to claim MJ as its creator. Because she planned to no longer live in the dorms and he didnât care whether he did or not, feeling infinitely older than the other freshmen (despite a measly year of age difference), he asked her to share an apartment with him. The question threw her back like a shove to the shoulders. Share an apartment? Share responsibilities, split rent, see each other every day, complete second year while he did first, then third and fourth. What if she did grad school? Moving out and leaving him in the lurch to find a new place or a roommate to cohabitate in the space theyâd made theirs for three years, pretending to be adults and scalding coffee to the bottom of the pot. And if they lived together for years and years, what then? A ring slid towards her between takeout boxes one day and then Peter forever.
When he asked, she fished; MJ cast the line of her thoughts ahead through a clear five years, five more years, hazier the farther she tried to look. Then, she reeled it all the way back. It ran smoothly through their cozy recent past, but soon snagged. Snagged, snagged, snagged as she tugged it insistently back to high school. How much or little have they changed since she was the cautious valedictorian-in-the-making, he the assumed burnout, skipping Spanish to take on local crime?
She turned him down and, because heâs softened since stepping out of the outline of a seventeen-year-old badass who eats Brad Davises for breakfast, Peter wears the rejection in plain sight. Every day that she sees him, on campus or on a date, thereâs something in his expression or the pitiful hang of his head. Some days, even his hair looks sad, sheâd swear. Most of her wants to repair this immediately, but MJ canât quite give in. Letting him have his way would mean beginning an apartment hunt ASAPâbecause this idiot is still reckless enough to leave student housing partway into the year and fumble his way through trying to get some of that money back. She likes her current roommates (three girls from her program) and doesnât want the stress of uprooting herself. Besides, heâs not really just asking to share an apartment. Heâs asking for her time, her constant presence. Eventually, if things were to go as sheâs forecasted, her life. It startles her that this brash, playful, independent guy needs her. More than she needs him.
For a firm two weeks, MJ steps away from their relationship of approximately two years. She feels naked. Walking down the sidewalk, she feels vulnerable and shivers in the sunlight. On the weekend, she takes a train out of town to visit Cindy. Itâs been a year since their almost-fight and theyâve spoken plenty since, but MJâs been scared to relax into their friendship, fearing it would not bear her weight. Everything in Cindyâs city is new, MJâs never been here before, with no trace of Peter anywhere but on the clothes she packed in her bag. Everything of her is still so much him.
âSo, did you break up?â Cindy asks over lunch. Theyâre at a place that serves sandwiches so tall that they can barely fit them into their mouths for a bite.
âI didnât want⌠I donât think⌠we donât need to talk about that.â
âMJ,â her friend says softly and love floods in through MJâs porous exterior where sun and sound have only battered her since the last time she spoke to Peter. Tears roll down her cheeks.
âI donât even know,â she wails, glancing around in embarrassment at this public place. Cindy pats her hands and dashes from the table to pay and bring MJ back to her apartment.
Her eyes itch and her nose runs and her bodyâs heaving with sobs like a violent coughing fit, so Cindy redirects them to a spit of a park. A bench.
âM, what happened?â
âNothing! Nothingââ Gasp. ââeven happened! But he loves me so much and I, I canât stand him! And I love him!â
âOk,â her friend says soothingly, rubbing briskly at MJâs arm. âWhat do you want to do?â
âCan I stay here with you forever?â
âOf course you can, babe, but I donât think youâre going to be happy until you resolve this.â
âIâm never going to be happy,â MJ corrects, and cries harder as Cindy pulls her head down to let her bawl into her sweater.
âYou will. You always know when things arenât right.â MJ shakes her head slowly against her friendâs shoulder, sowing her tears more widely. âYes, you do,â Cindy counters. âYou do.â
â
Breakup sex is what MJ talks Peter into. She never calls it that, but he knows. He meets up with her outside his dorm, breathing hard like he ran to make it on time. Itâs their final good day togetherâday, not night, because she doesnât want him to expect her to wake up in the morning feeling different, like they should stay together. She doesnât want to stab him in the heart with the probable reality that she would slip out while he slept.
They stop and start, her to shake off her trembling and him to turn his head away for more than a minute. She really doesnât want to think that heâs trying not to cry.
His clothes remind her of their first hookup at Flashâs party: different sweatshirt, same smell. Peter never gave up weed, just smoked less, but its earthy funk rises alongside the even more offensive stench of cigarettes when she gently pulls the hoodie over his head. She doesnât comment. His choices belong to him. Sheâs never going to have to worry about her husband dying from smoking-induced lung cancer because that man wonât be Peter. Thatâs the thought that has her crumpling to her knees before she can perceive the world tilting out from underneath her, but he catches her and hoists her into his arms.
âSteady,â he tells her.
MJ cups his cheek, staring back into his bloodshot brown eyes. She watches his jaw clench and relax. Then, MJ smooths her hand over his ear, around to the back of his head, and pulls him into a kiss. It feels like theyâve been practicing this a long time and have finally arrived at the day of their performance. The nudge of his mouth is strong without being rough and as he sets her on the bed, her palm finds his heart hammering beneath his t-shirt. When Peter joins her, she rolls on top of him. There are no accidents of him manhandling her or her accidently pushing a knee into his nuts as she shifts. Everything is intentional, including the desire not to separate, MJ laid out the full length of Peterâs body. They flop back and forth as they remove each otherâs clothes. Itâs not a rush so much as the gentle tumble of laundry as a dryer winds down its cycle. They are. Theyâre winding down.
He scoots his hips lower and his cock prods her as she parts her legs, lifting because theyâre on their sides. Peter sinks in by gripping the back of her thigh and pulling her towards him rather than thrusting up. Theyâre forgoing a condom because MJâs still on the pill. She doesnât know yet whether sheâll renew her prescription when she runs out. Itâs tempting to stop and flush the chemistry from her body. Seeking something deeper, she hikes her knee up his thigh and Peter grabs it, hauling it to his hip. Soon, sheâs sweating with her hand still on his chest, though thereâs hardly room between them. Peter huffs as he plunges himself inside her with the opening salvo that is the reliable flick of his hips. MJâs hand clutches his pec with his first serious thrust.
At the noise she makes, Peter tips her onto her back, but stays almost suffocatingly close on top of her, skin skimming skin. His forearms are braced on either side of her head. Careful, loving fingers brush against her temples, briefly making his arms a triangle with the top of her head as its peak. MJ looks up while heâs looking down, chin tucked so far that he must be watching himself move in and out of her. His hair is nearly in her eyes. She realizes they havenât kissed since he entered her and panics, grabbing his chin.
Peterâs startled expression scares her, but then he slams his mouth down onto hers and ratchets up the speed and force of his thrusts. She makes such a variety of sounds, all running into each other, that it takes a little while for them to streamline down to one constant, âMmmmm,â as he bucks, shaking her body. Her legs fall open instead of wrapping up around him because the way his proximity is rubbing her clit has her twitching from toe to hip. His hands clasp hers and pin them down on either side of her head; she doesnât think twiceâlike she probably shouldâbefore twisting their fingers together.
She comes like a hiccup when his pubic bone pushes down against her clit, then slides away on a withdrawal, then returns because she detangles their fingers to clasp her hands to his hips, then his ass, and yank him back to her. Her head tips back, pulling her hair where itâs trapped against the sheet, and she breathes out his name in a gust: âPeter.â Though she knows heâs close, can feel him there at the end of his rope and see the struggle in how harshly he squeezes his eyes closed, he only goes faster.
âCome on,â MJ bids, sweaty and trapped by his weight, still clutching his ass with both hands.
âNo,â he pants.
âLet go.â
âCanât.â
Peter forcefully pulls her hand into his and locks their fingers securely together. And she stares up at him, baby-faced and overextended. He zigzags between school and Spider-Man duties and looking out for his aunt, trying to kick his bad habits while the stress of everything has him craving relief that much more. Heâs spiraling. Whether itâs down, up, or just kinda in place like a carousal only depends on the day. He lives his life in a circle and when MJ observes him, she feels an ache compressing her heart. She wants to be there for him, not leave him, and she has to remind herself that she has been. While he flitted all over the placeâhigh or just high up, navigating the city rooftop-to-rooftopâshe walked below him with an outstretched net. One eye was always on him. Sheâs been reliable, present, giving, and she canât keep being those things alone. This will never be because she didnât care. The truth is simple and the most awful realization sheâs ever had: he was right when he said he doesnât deserve her.
All her life, MJâs felt like sheâs done a good job of recognizing her own worth. Now she has to prove it. It feels like sheâs walking up to a checkout and realizing she doesnât have enough money on her; she never dreamed it would cost so much to put herself first.
âPeter.â Sheâs frustrated now, and hurt. She clenches around him to encourage him over the edge.
âUnnhhh!â
Sheâs trying to think of something else to say, filtering out all the ideas that are too blunt or cruel (she doesnât want to say anything too sweet either), but Peter orgasms seconds after he made that noise of pleasure as he fought against it. When he climaxes, tightening his grip on her hand, he moans, âLove you, MJ,â which is the worst thing of all.
â
She canât know. She puts distance between herself and anyone who might tell her how Peterâs doing. She almost changes schools until basically every person in her life lectures her not to. Sheâs scared enough to accept her own cowardice. She lives in the background as she hasnât done for a while, though she steps forward slowly over timeâmonths and years. She puts herself first. Sheâs valedictorian at the end of her four-year degree and considers lying about bronchitis every day up until convocation, when she gives a haphazard, heartfelt speech that makes her brother cheer riotously from the audience. Valedictorian. First again.
Then the years just pass like they do. MJâs chronically underpaid before finding a company that values her, though the job isnât what she really wants to be doing. After hours, she paints. Just for herself. She moves in with Louis and thatâs not as bad an idea as it seems until the year they host a Halloween party and her brother (now 33) bumps into Cindy (now 28) for the first time since she was one of his sisterâs dorky decathlon friends. Cindy shows up dressed as a vampire, fake fangs and all, and MJ is highly suspicious when she notices the fangs are missing after Cindy went to âhelp Louis add iceâ to the bathtub serving as their cooler for the night. Whatever. Theyâre married seven months later.
Life is so funny. Thatâs what MJ canât communicate to her small circle of friends at their corner booth of the bar as they do their damnedest to get her shitfaced on her thirtieth birthday. She evades and redistributes drinks amongst them, but she can tell they think sheâs drunk. She doesnât normally talk this much or open up so willingly. But sheâs thoughtful tonight, with one less decade left to live. She smiles to herself, looking down into the glass she keeps wiping condensation off. She knows how they lookâpeepers wide and dollish because alcohol makes three out of five of them into glassy-eyed babies with false lashes askew. âI used to know this guyâŚâ MJ tells them and Cindyâs hand bumbles across the table to clasp reassuringly around her wrist.
She continues to smile. She doesnât know why tonightâs the night heâs on her mind. The rings that sparkle on her friendsâ fingers, maybe. Age. Or the way the love of the people around her calls back to another love, the only partner sheâs bestowed that word on, though sheâs dated since. Love, she tells her friends, unlike life, is not so funny. Itâs earnest and needy. Itâs the hand that holds yours and itâs the hand that comes up to slap yours away. Her friends decide sheâs sad and begin talking over and across her before she can finish. Younger her would set them straight, but sheâs neither a cynic nor a pedant on her birthday evening, so she lets them cart her out of the bar instead. Theyâre like a flurry of babysitters or ladyâs maids and itâs totally ridiculous as sheâs the most sober among them.
While theyâre putting their foggy heads together to figure out the rideshare app on Cindyâs phone, MJ catches a red flare out of the corner of her eye. A cigarette, a smoker. Normally, she gives those a hard stare to encourage them to rethink their choices, but now, she snaps her mostly-clear head away. Unlikely, her brain tells her. Unlikely. She swallows and watches her friends, giggling and all trying to get a finger on the screen to wrest control away from the others. To be MJâs hero and secure her ride home. With a shallow breath, she turns from them.
Heâs already looking at her in a way that says he wasnât completely sure until she turned.
Peter pushes away from the wall and the cigarette trapped between fingers that arenât his. The other man looks mildly curious, then gets over it and averts his gaze, continuing to sprinkle ash on the sidewalk. Not that sheâs perceiving him anymore.
âHappy birthday,â Peter says, eyes speaking so loud.
MJ self-consciously touches the distinguishing button the girls pinned to her dress before they came downtown, but he shakes his head.
âNo,â he tells her. âI remember when it is.â
âOh.â
âMineâsââ
âAugust tenth.â
âYeah.â
One of her friends tries to call her over and MJ jumps, glancing back at them. She sees Cindy watching her cautiously. Sees Cindy touch their friendâs arm and redirect her attention. MJ looks back to Peter. She looks at his hands and canât see the scarring in this light. Canât see a wedding band either, but with his superhuman side-hustle, itâs possible he just wouldnât wear one for fear of losing it.
âNight off?â she asks. These should be prime swinging hours for Spider-Man.
âNah, I was out there until half an hour ago.â
MJ peers at him more closely. He looks a little tired, but not wiped like he used to look when heâd show up late years earlier. She wonders if heâs learned to take better care of himself, if heâs had any major injuries.
âDo you work set hours now or did you have to stop for a hospital visit?â Sheâs joking without any lift to her words and spies Peterâs quick smile.
âNo broken bones tonight,â he brags. âI got hungry. I grabbed some food right before this.â
She meets his eye and watches as he summons something from himself.
âYou wanna go inside and get a birthday drink?â he offers, jerking a thumb towards the bar MJ and her friends just left.
Her smile is gradual and regretful without permitting room for him to persuade her.
âI canât,â she says. âI have to get home.â
MJ puts out her hand to him and when Peter grips it, she steps slowly into him, bowing her neck to rest her chin over the shoulder of his jean jacket, which doesnât smell like anything in particular. His free hand presses high on her back. Itâs tentative, but when she doesnât pull away, he cradles her, arm encircling her more protectively.
âItâs good to see you,â he murmurs.
Before she backs off, she tells him that she still walks the paths at Columbia some nights, in the glow of Butler Library.
âThatâs funny,â Peter says, letting his arm slide down so MJ can draw back and look him in the eye. âNot funny funny, but, you know. So do I.â
more clichĂŠd tropes and prompts
#let's see how this one goes over lol#to quote Juno MacGuff: 'it would be friggin' sweet if no one hit me'#tw: smoking#tw: implied/referenced drug use#spideychelle#spideychelle fic#spideychelle fanfiction#peter parker#peter x mj#peter x michelle#peter parker x michelle jones#michelle jones#my writing
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