Archive of Our Own ^beta

“...And that’s how you — yes, you! — can synthesize your very own webfluid at home,” Peter says, gesturing vaguely at the sprawling list of steps and formulas on the chalkboard. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t, but that’s how you could. Y’know, if you wanted to.”

Cue the crickets.

“Anyway!” Peter says, clapping his hands. “Any questions?”

Franklin raises his hand.

Peter brandishes a stick of chalk at him. “Yes, Franklin?”

“Why do you call Uncle Johnny ‘baby’?” asks Franklin, apropos of nothing other than the fact that Peter may or may not have been loopy from a long night of swinging and thus overly affectionate at breakfast. “He’s not a baby. He’s a grown man.”

Peter coughs into his fist. “Anybody else?”

Bentley raises a finger. “Comment,” he says. “While the Torch is legally an adult, he is, much like the Spider-Man — ”

“A big baby?” says Mik, echoing Bentley’s choice words from Peter’s first day on the Future Foundation.

Bentley snaps his fingers. “Precisely.”

Peter throws his hands up. “Any questions relevant to the syllabus?” he asks, feeling a headache forming behind his temple.

The classroom falls silent.

Val slowly raises her hand. “When modeling your webshooters, did you take into consideration the fact that spiders, anatomically speaking, shoot silk from their — ”

“Oh, what’s that I hear?” Peter asks, chucking his piece of chalk aside in exasperation. He should’ve known agreeing to substitute for the Future Foundation’s Monday lectures was a mistake. “That’s the recess bell, kids. Class dismissed!”

The kids march out single-file towards the kitchen, where Johnny and Sue have formed an assembly line of sandwich ingredients.

It’s always fun to watch the Storm siblings work in sync; they have their joint lunch-making process down to a science by now. Sue is using her powers to cut vegetables with a floating knife off to the side so that her hands are free to put the ingredients together. Once a sandwich is complete, she then slides it over to Johnny, who’s in charge of toasting the bread just right according to everyone’s exacting tastes — and also cutting the crusts off.

Sue brightens at the sight of the children. “How was class, Spider-Man?” she asks as she ushers Turg to float over to the dining table.

“Angels as usual,” Peter says wryly.

Sue laughs as she pulls open the fridge. She forms a serving tray with a force field and starts piling drinks on it: a carton of milk, a pitcher of water, and a bottle of branded orange juice that — bizarrely — has the Thing’s face on it.

While Sue is busy, Peter sneaks up behind Johnny. “Hi, honey,” he greets, snaking his arms around his waist. “What did you make for me?”

Johnny nudges a plate at him. It has several sandwiches piled on it, each topped with a toothpick. “It’s turkey,” he says. “No mayo.”

Peter hops up on the counter. “Nice,” he says, rolling his mask up. “You cut the crusts for me too?”

Johnny laughs and flicks his forehead. A harmless spark spirals from his fingers. “Yeah, because you’re a manchild.”

“I resent that,” Peter says around a mouthful of bread. “This is the second time today I’ve been infantilized.”

Johnny hums. Sue comes whirling towards them with an empty force field tray, and Johnny dutifully stacks several more sandwiches on top of it. “Being cooped up in a room with a bunch of baby geniuses will do that to you,” he replies.

“I was a baby genius once,” Peter says wistfully.

Johnny leans against the counter. “Sure, Webwit,” he says, reaching up to brush crumbs off Peter’s jaw.

Together they eat and watch the chaos unfold in the marigold light of the dining hall. Val has a tablet hidden under the table, and Bentley is hovering over her shoulder to peer at what Peter hopes isn’t the schematics for a death ray. The moloids are chanting, “The sandwich of strength! The sandwich of glory!” in unison as they pass a plate of grilled cheese around. Artie, Leech, and Franklin have surreptitiously snuck off to play Mario Party in the living room. The fish kids — well, Peter never has a clue what Vil and Wu are up to, and he’s not sure if he wants to know.

Johnny kisses Peter on the cheek. “I’ll go make sure the boys don’t skip lunch,” he says.

Peter snorts but leans into it anyway, savoring the warmth of him. “They’re going to rope you into a game and you know it, baby.”

Johnny just winks at him.

“So why do you call him ‘baby’?” Bentley asks without looking up from what is definitely the schematics of a death ray. Val hums next to him.

Peter thunks his head against the cupboard with a groan. “How about we stop talking for a while.”

Observation #1: Peter has had a lot of nicknames for Johnny over the years, most of them disparaging. Now that they’re dating, his catalogue has expanded to a variety of pet names — most of them also vaguely disparaging. Admittedly he mostly started calling Johnny “baby” and “honey” ironically, but now that he’s started, it’s impossible to stop. He’s always been a nickname guy, after all.

Observation #2: Johnny has also had a lot of nicknames for Peter over the years, all of them disparaging, but now that they’ve started dating, nothing has changed. He calls Peter the exact same things he’s been calling him since they were sixteen, even though he’s just as much of a nickname guy as Peter.

Question: Why is that?

Further observation required.

On Tuesday, Johnny calls Peter the following: his name (six times); “Pete” (three times); “Petey” (once, when he sneaks up on Peter from behind while he’s fetching a glass of water); and “Spidey” (two times, once when Peter crawls in through his window at 2 AM after patrol, then again when Peter laughs and wrestles him back into bed.)

On Wednesday, Johnny calls Peter “Spidey” eighteen (18) times. Three (3) instances occur in the morning at breakfast with varying degrees of exasperation as Peter withholds the mayonnaise jar from him. The remaining fifteen (15) instances occur when Peter shimmies in through his window in the middle of the night and Johnny ropes him into some truly questionable role play involving the suit, the mask, and his web shooters. “Just pretend like I still don’t know your secret identity,” Johnny whines, as if Peter’s ever been able to deny Johnny anything when he has his legs wrapped around his waist. Granted, they’re both terrible actors, so halfway through they forget themselves entirely and start having normal sex — or as normal as sex can be with Johnny’s hands webbed to the headboard, anyway. At that point, Johnny calls Peter by his name six (6) times: three (3) times before he comes; two (2) times immediately after, while he’s stroking the back of Peter’s neck affectionately; and once (1) when he looks up with a twinkle in his eye and says, “So… just wondering, do you still keep that old black suit around somewhere?”

On Thursday, Reed discovers an entire civilization living on the other side of an electron and assembles the Fantastic Four to investigate. Johnny calls Peter right before they leave. “I’ll see you soon, Pete,” he promises over the phone. “Heck, I’ll bring back a souvenir. What do you want, flowers? I’ll get you flowers. Bye.”

On Friday, Johnny isn’t around to call Peter anything in particular. On an unrelated note, a mugger found webbed upside-down in an alleyway reportedly asked the police, “Who pissed in Spidey’s cereal? He was real quiet today.”

On Saturday, Peter finds Johnny waiting for him in his apartment — the trip must have been exhausting, because he’s curled up in Peter’s rickety bed when he finds him. “I got you something,” Johnny says, when Peter moves to sit with him. It’s a bouquet of alien wildflowers, their stalks twisted and their pistils shaped like eyeballs. When Peter lunges at him in a bone-crushing hug, he just laughs. “I missed you too,” he says, “moron,” the way someone might say baby or darling, which has to count for something.

On Sunday, a magical mishap causes the streets of Manhattan to become overcrowded with various monsters from Asgard, and it’s all gloved hands on deck for an afternoon. Johnny calls him “Spidey” a grand total of six (6) times when their paths cross: thrice (3) while zipping past him, tossing a wave over his shoulders; twice (2) when they end up stranded in the subway with a troll; and once (1) after Peter punches the aforementioned troll’s lights out. “Webhead” is used once (1) while Johnny is inspecting Peter’s split knuckles. (“You need to be more careful, Webhead,” Johnny says, frowning when his fingers come away wet with blood.)

Later, Peter finds himself hissing in the shower when the water runs over his various injuries. When he catches Johnny looking, he raises his shoulders defensively and says, “I’m fine.”

Johnny sighs as he cranks up the temperature by several degrees, turning the bathroom into a sauna. “Whatever you say, babe,” he says sarcastically, then when Peter’s head snaps up: “What?”

“You called me ‘babe’,” Peter says, grinning wildly. Ironically, but — hey, it’s the first pet name in a week. By comparison, Peter has called Johnny “hot stuff” five times in the past hour alone.

Johnny stares at him like he’s sprouted a second head or, more likely, six arms. “We’re dating,” he says slowly.

“Wait, really?” Peter says, looking around with exaggerated surprise. “So you didn’t suck my dick platonically this morning?”

Johnny splashes soapy water at him. “Weirdo,” he says, mouth quirked like he just called Peter something more along the lines of love of my life instead of insulting him. Does that count? “Come here,” Johnny continues, pressing Peter up against the fogged-up glass of the shower door, “and I’ll suck your dick romantically, whatever that means,” which, okay, Peter decides as he laughs and fists Johnny’s damp hair — it totally counts.

Conclusion: Johnny does not, in fact, have any pet names for him — save for the occasional sarcastic remark or disparaging insult.

Hypothesis: ???

Amendment: Peter’s called Johnny pet names long before they started dating.

Hell, he’d broken out “hot stuff” the very first time they’d ever teamed up forever ago — against the Fox, of all people, albeit not without having to chase Johnny around until he got caught in Peter’s special ice-silicone web first. (“Okay, hot stuff, let’s go!” Peter had said in the middle of their hunt, and even then Johnny defaulted to insults: “Move, chowderhead! There’s a train behind you!”)^[1]

Even “pretty boy” has cropped up several times over the years, like when Johnny was looking aggravatingly attractive smack dab in the middle of Peter’s college campus (“What’d I do in a past life to deserve running into Peter Parker today?” Johnny had exclaimed, and Peter, unable to help himself, had shot back with, “I’m enrolled here, pretty boy.”)^[2] or even their more recent venture to save a space station (“Do you have any of these in red?” Johnny had asked as he fastened his propellant belt on, and Peter had rolled his eyes and said, “They’re not fashion accessories, pretty boy.”)^[3]

It just sort of happened, and kept happening, and won’t seem to stop happening. Maybe at some point Peter had vowed to stop being so obvious about his feelings for Johnny, but hey — like Johnny said, they’re dating now. It’s well within his rights.

More than that, he’d made a promise to himself.

He’d made it the night he stayed up with Reed, Sue, and Ben. The kitchen had been quiet, the lights dim, but then the whole world seemed dimmer with Johnny dead. It seemed a little brighter, though, once they all started exchanging their favorite stories about Johnny. Reed’s was his favorite: the time Johnny had invited him along for the launch of their new skiff. Their encounter with the Banner Nova. Peter remembers it well.

The way the star had glowed green, ready to go supernova any second. The way Johnny had clambered out of the ship to absorb the solar flares. The way he and Reed got to work on fixing the skiff, talking over Johnny all the while, thinking they were so damn smart — until Johnny had turned, emerald light glinting on the curve of his helmet, and snapped, “Look, I’m just saying; it sounded like your engine was flooded,” and he’d been right, and Peter had felt struck dumb for once in his life, at least until he and Reed had exchanged stupefied looks and scrambled to fix it.

They’d made it out unscathed, and it was all thanks to Johnny, in more ways than one.

What made it Peter’s favorite memory was what came after, when they were finally a safe distance away. When Johnny had slipped out of the ship to blow off all the extra heat he’d absorbed — the heat that was making his skin spark and sizzle. He’d never forget the way Johnny glowed in the vast, dark sea of space, prettier than any star.

“I’ll deny I ever said this,” Peter had told Reed, “but for all I kid Johnny, well…”

In the distance, Johnny went nova in a flash of green light brighter and more colorful than every firework in the world combined. It was a shade of green Peter would always remember, but one that he’d never see again, not in this world or any other.

“...he’s actually a pretty bright guy,” Peter had said, one arm barely saving his eyes from the flash, unable to truly look away.^[4]

“I wish I’d told him that while he was still around,” Peter said to Reed, after they were done telling the story. If he could go back in time, he’d thought. If he could see Johnny one more time, he’d do it, and he’d tell him, and he’d do everything right, given a second chance.

So what was he supposed to do, when Johnny emerged from the gate — beautifully, impossibly, miraculously — alive? Not pick him up, spin him around, and kiss him?

“So, I’ve noticed something lately,” Peter starts. “Why don’t you, like — use any pet names with me? Not that I care either way,” he says quickly. “It just struck me as uncharacteristic, given how you’ve been with other people you’ve dated, and it got me thinking, because — well, I know we’ve been moving kind of fast, even by our standards, and we’ve never really talked about how serious we are, considering — ”

“Peter,” Johnny says, voice strangled. “You are still quite literally inside of me.”

Peter blinks. “Oh, right.”

Two minutes later he returns from Johnny’s obnoxiously well-stocked bathroom with a damp towel. He cleans him up slowly, Johnny staring up at him thoughtfully all the while. Afterwards, Johnny shrugs on Peter’s shirt and Peter’s boxers and leaves him with nothing to wear but his sweatpants, grinning like the cat that caught the canary while he clambers back into bed.

“So that’s what’s gotten into you lately,” Johnny says when Peter climbs back on top of him. “I thought you looked like you had your thinking cap on. Didn’t think it would be about that, though,” he adds, snorting.

“It’s a valid concern!” Peter protests, burying his head in Johnny’s chest.

“Sure,” Johnny says, sounding amused. He cards his fingers through Peter’s messy hair, trying to tame it and only making things worse. “Want me to start? I can start.”

“I told you I don’t care either way,” Peter replies, rolling over to lie on his back. “I was just curious as to why, since with everyone else you’ve dated — ”

Johnny actually laughs, a soft, startled sound. “You really haven’t figured it out, haven’t you,” he says, sounding awed.

Peter frowns. “Figured out what.”

Johnny sits up on his elbows. “You’re so smart,” he says, pressing a finger between Peter’s furrowed brows. “You know I think the world of you, right? You’re the best. I’ve always thought so.”

“O-kay,” Peter says, wrapping a hand around Johnny’s wrist, going a little cross-eyed when Johnny jabs his finger deeper into his forehead.

“But also?” Johnny continues. “You’re, like, the stupidest person ever.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “That sounds a bit more like something you would say to me. Side note, are you trying to condition me into getting a hard-on every time you insult me? Because it’s kind of working.”

Johnny snorts. “You are so fucking dumb.”

“No, seriously,” Peter says. “It’s working.”

“I’m trying to have a moment here!” Johnny says, miming strangling motions with his hands, but he’s laughing. “Pete, I don’t treat you the way I’ve treated everyone else I’ve dated because you’re not like everyone else I’ve dated.”

Peter nods, shifting on the bed. “Right,” he agrees. “I’m not making the cover of Vogue anytime soon — ”

“Not with that attitude you’re not,” Johnny says. “No, I’m not talking about you, specifically. I’m talking about the way you make me feel. And it’s not just that.”

Peter cranes his neck as Johnny glances around the room, clearly looking for something. He pauses to snatch Peter’s mask from where it somehow wound up dangling from the bedpost.

“It’s this,” Johnny says, shaking the bundle of red fabric at him. “Your name is special, okay?”

“Uh,” Peter says. “It’s a pretty common name, actua — ”

“But I didn’t know what it was!” Johnny exclaims. “For the longest time, I didn’t know. It could have been anything — you could have been anyone! — but then it was you, because of course it had to be you.”

Peter softens. He takes Johnny’s hand again. “Johnny…”

“And you took it all away from me,” Johnny says, eyes sparking — but he’s not mad, Peter can tell. Just worked up. Sure enough, Johnny goes slack, and when he says, “Don’t think I ever forgot,” it’s soft, almost nostalgic.

It’s crazy to think that Peter’s name and face had meant so much to Johnny that he’d seen right through him, had fought him to get them back — to get Peter back. It’s like I used to know, he’d said. No matter how much it had frustrated him at the time, it meant something. It still means something.

Peter smiles at him. “So much for your goldfish memory, huh?” he teases. “Or is it just that all your brain storage goes to keeping track of every excuse you have to set my hair on fire?”

“As if I need an excuse,” Johnny scoffs. “I like your stupid face, alright?” he says, turning to press his nose into Peter’s hair, right along the seam of it.

Peter thinks about their disastrous trip to the macroverse. The way Johnny had been so frustrated. I can’t remember his face, he’d said. No matter how hard I try. The relief in his eyes when Peter had unmasked again and he could say, Hi, Pete. Long time no see.

“And I like your stupid name, too,” Johnny says, bringing Peter back to the present. “So there, that’s why. Happy now?”

Peter turns over to bring their heads together. “Ecstatic,” he says, grinning.

“Ugh,” Johnny says, trying to push him away.

Peter doesn’t budge. “You’re so sappy,” he says, rolling them over instead. “That’s gross. What’s next? You like my stupid face, you like my stupid name, you like — heaven forbid — me?”

Johnny tosses the mask aside. He slings his arms around Peter’s neck and says, “You are pretty stupid.”

The whole room smells a bit like kerosene, but with a sweeter edge — since Johnny doesn’t really sweat, after they sleep together, the room usually just winds up heady with the lingering scent of burning fuel. Once, when Peter was a bored teenager trying to list out everything he’d hated about Johnny, smells kinda like kerosene had been one of the 769 bullet points. Now that he thinks about it, he’s made a lot of Johnny-related lists over the years. And now that Johnny’s back, he can keep making more.

“I missed you, Flamebrain,” Peter says suddenly, trying not to sound as choked up as he feels.

Johnny knocks their foreheads together. “I’m right here, Webhead,” he replies, but he’s smiling, and Peter knows him well enough to hear what he’s really trying to say.

(“Ugh,” Val says the next morning, squinting at Peter and Johnny while they half-wrestle, half-dance around the kitchen. “It’s because they’re in love, Franklin.”

Franklin looks up from his cereal bowl. “Well, everyone knows that. I was asking about the semantics.”

“Do you recall Professor Storm’s lecture about reproduction?” asks Tong.

Bentley waves a spoon around imperiously. “The one about love and commitment? And how people make babies because of love and commitment?” His grip on the spoon goes limp. “Blegh.”

Franklin looks pensive all of a sudden. “Does that mean Uncle Johnny and Spider-Man are going to have a baby?”)