Chapter Text
Two weeks ago, Spider-Man made out with The Thing.
Swapped spit, sucked face, straight up slurping sloppy style on the weirdest tongue he’s ever felt (and he had an ill-advised hook-up with Venom one time). To be clear, they weren’t in their right minds at the time. It was a result of mind control first making them fight and then when reversed making them… uh, well… making them mack on each other.
(Sure it was mind control, but putting a name to how he’d felt at the time felt like those dreams where he showed up to class in his underwear.)
It wasn’t a huge deal. Hazard of the job. Nothing to worry about, really. Benn Grimm pulled Peter into his lap with those big strong arms and kissed him like the end of a romcom, and Peter had wrapped a hand around the back of Ben’s head to pull himself up into kissing range, and for a good minute and a half that was Peter’s entire world. Then the mind control box got smashed and they were both back to normal. Their normal, everyday, non-kissing friendship. Which is good. Because Peter didn’t want to lock lips with Ben. That was the opposite of what he would want. And they also both agreed to never speak of it again. And that’s definitely like a rejection, right? Not that there’s anything to reject. Because there isn’t.
Peter didn’t have feelings for Ben. He didn’t. It would be ridiculous to catch feelings over a few mind controlled smooches. So what if he liked being held like that, or if he liked having someone so much bigger than him, or if he liked the idea of a partner who was willing to take the lead instead of expecting that from him? It wasn’t like Ben was the only person who could do that for him. Peter was smaller than most men, and even though a knock-out like She-Hulk would be out of his league, he was also in the right line of work to find tall women willing to toss him around. Men would only be easier to come by. If that was what he wanted. Which it wasn’t. But if it was, it wasn’t a big deal.
And Peter, who was awake at 3 AM thinking about something he really didn’t want to be thinking about, was never going to speak of it ever again.
“I kissed somebody the other day,” He blurted the next morning.
The seating outside the little cafe that MJ liked was sparsely populated. From what Peter understood, most people got their coffees and left, with few customers choosing to linger. The fact that it was likely going to rain soon was also a contributing factor, with ominous looking clouds hanging in the sky.
MJ, who had not even had a sip of her coffee, squinted at him. “Why would you start a conversation like that?”
“It was like two weeks ago,” Peter charged forward, his words kind of falling out of his mouth now that he’d broken the seal. “And I didn’t mean to do it and they didn’t mean to kiss me, but we kinda made out and I keep thinking about it.”
“Peter, it is 7 AM. Do you know how early that is? It’s about 7 AM.” MJ replied. “The sun is out but it’s lying to you. This is basically still night time.”
Peter continued on, heedless, “We’re really good friends and our friendship means a lot to me but I keep thinking about that kiss and how nice it was and how much bigger than me they are and I don’t know if I’m really into them specifically and I never noticed or if I’m really just into people who could crush me.” He finished.
MJ stared at him for a moment. She squinted again, and then shut her eyes completely. She took a deep, calming breath, something she often did when talking to people. Then she snatched her coffee off the table, taking a big swig of it before setting it back down. Was it too hot to do that? Probably. Had that ever stopped Michelle Jones? No it had not. Peter was rightfully kind terrified of her most of the time. Currently he was in a Thing-kissing crisis and could not afford things like “survival instinct” getting in the way of someone who often gave him flawless advice.
“Okay,” She said with a sigh. “So fuck Thor about it or something.”
“What.”
MJ shrugged. “You made out with the Punisher - “
“I did not make out with the Punisher!” Peter interjected. MJ stared at him. And stared. And stared. “I’m sorry, please continue.”
“So you made out with Luke Cage or something and you don’t know if you got horny about it because you like him or you just like feeling small.” She recapped flatly. “The obvious solution is further data. So find a big guy to mash your guts and see how you feel about it then.”
Peter felt sort of like his brains were melting out of his ears. “Thor?”
“He’s big. And he’s like a fertility god, or something.” She explained before downing another mouthful of her definitely-still-too-hot-coffee.
This. This was definitely not real advice. This was that shock advice people gave to prove a point, right? Like that story about two people who both want a baby and then someone proposes cutting the baby in half to get them to understand that their fighting was dumb. That was definitely what MJ was doing, because she was a perfectly rational person who would not suggest solving a friend-kissing problem by kissing more friends. She wouldn’t. Friend-kissing was how the two of them almost ended up as not-friends-anymore as teenagers. She knew that. So she couldn’t be serious.
“I’m as serious as a heart-attack, by the way.” She informed him. “Go see how that hammer swings. He seems like he’d be cool with casual sex.”
“What am I even supposed to say to him?” Peter sputtered. “Oh hello God of Thunder, would you be ever so kind as to rearrange the Feng Shui of my insides? I need the data.”
“I can do that,” said Thor. Sort of. This was roughly translated from an embarrassingly loud sentence about warriors finding comfort in each other, and something about being kind of bummed that none of the Avengers have slept with him.
“Huh.” said Peter. Sort of. This was roughly translated from an embarrassingly long series of stammering and stuttering that was mercifully interrupted by Thor’s mouth.
It’s toe-curling, earth shattering, completely fucking insane. Peter feels like he’s losing his mind for half of it, and for the other half he’s sure it’s gone for good. Thor mashes his guts, realigns his chakras, and makes his toes curl until his leg almost cramps. It’s beyond any expectations Peter could have had.
And after, sweaty and a little sore and having thoroughly enjoyed having a partner who could actually hold him down, Peter’s thoughts stray to wondering how it would have felt with a partner who had much rougher and much oranger hands.
Fuck.