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BAXTER HOME, MIDDLE OF THE TRACK
SECTOR A (CIRCUIT), LAP 32, FINAL
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
8:03 P.M.
Being a Formula 1 driver was never one of Johnny’s life ambitions.
Sure, it was a hobby of his – he enjoyed the wind racing against the sleek exterior of the car as he zoomed past and the blitzes of passerby’s expressions. He’s not against the idea of it becoming his life’s work (would be too late now, anyways) but he just hadn’t expected it. That’s all.
The radio crackles. “Johnny, box, box,”
He resists an eyeroll, but listens.
BAXTER HOME HILL
SECTOR O, LAP 32, FINAL
JUST OUTSIDE OF THE CIRCUIT
8:04 P.M.
“And there Storm goes! Driven right into the pits with Parker storming , ha, right behind him. Comin’ in hot, am I right?”
The presenter gestures wildly on the tv screen. She’s standing somewhere close to the track, vaguely interviewing avid fans. There’s two girls sitting on a hill looking over the track, one wears a red outfit, combined with an extreme dark blue easily mistaken for black. There’s slight white accents on the red top. The presenter approaches.
“Hello! My name is Iris, would you mind being interviewed? We’re live,” She asks, leaning the microphone toward the girl in red, and pointing her other hand at the camera behind her. The girl enthusiastically nods.
Iris sits down on the grass, slightly damp from earlier rain. She folds a leg underneath herself. “I don’t think I have to ask who your favorite Stark GP driver is, do I?”
She chortles a laugh, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Her eyes sparkle when she looks back at Iris, a slight glance to the camera. “Hi, I’m Ella, and – hah, stop,” she murmurs something to her friend behind her. Iris’ interest slightly peaks, but she waits.
“I’m Ella, and my favorite driver is Peter Parker,” she says with a grin, using her hand to show her hoodie to the camera. “He’s my favorite, because I like a friendly neighbourhood racer, you know,” she explains.
Iris signals something at her camera crew, who steps a little closer. Her friend is in the angle now as well, the hint of an eye-roll still present on her face. She wears a light blue hoodie, with an obnoxious orange ‘4’ on the back. “And you are?” Iris asks, with a smile.
“I’m Susan, her girlfriend ,” she says. Iris’ smile grows as Ella continues to hide her face behind her hand. “And I’m here for Storm. Complete riot, and I hope he tears Parker to shreds,”
Iris thanks the girls, and walks away from them with her camera crew to gain a secluded spot again to speak. In the background you can spot the two, with Ella holding a surprised face and Susan grinning.
“ Right , well, enemies on the track and lovers in the stands. Will that uphold?” She says with a wink toward the camera.”
Ben looks away from the screen, hands on his hips. Reed sucks on his front teeth, watching the other screen, which follows Johnny’s car closely.
“He’s reaching,” he says, disdain tainted in his voice.
“Yes, he is.” Ben agrees.
Johnny is out of the box in three seconds. A little long, for his standards, but the roar of the crowd made it worth it. He’s not sure if they were cheering him on, or yelling at his crew to hurry up.
“Track is clear behind. Parker in front with 2.3 gap. Close it,” the radio crackles through him.
Johnny responds instantly, “Copy. Let’s reel him in,”
The light flashes green — he might’ve heard an affirmative through the radio but he’s tuned it out. His foot pushes deep on the accelerator and he’s out.
It’s not exactly hard to spot Parker, not with the obnoxious red car beaming in the rays of sunlight while Johnny approaches.
“P2 Johnny. Push if you can, use the grip to your advantage,” he hears, loud and clearly — he doesn’t offer a verbal response. Just does what he’s told.
Johnny’s tires are better than Peter’s by a long shot — Peter hasn’t been to the box in a while. It’s the last lap, and Peter presumably thinks he can win the race by holding out .
He offers the radio a chuckle — long and outdrawn, probably something he’ll hear back for months when he opens the internet. Good. Because he’s just proven Peter wrong, that he can’t just hold out and win, not with him.
Johnny crosses the finish line half a second earlier than Peter. Nothing he hasn’t done before, but that doesn’t make it any less satisfactory. He almost laughs out of pure disbelief , considering the exact same thing happened at the qualification.
“Come on !” He yells into the radio, and is greeted with the beaming response of his crew, chiming in with congratulations and praise. He rushes through the cooldown lap – much to his crew’s dismay, and he parks swiftly in the parc fermé.
Upon exit, he hears his crew before he sees them. His sister is there, too, but little Franklin reaches him before Sue can. Johnny crouches down, helmet still on, completely zipped up suit, and Franklin jumps onto his hip and into open arms.
He stands up, Franklin sat on his hip and his arm keeping him upright. Franklin knocks on the helmet he’s still wearing, a matte black with flaming veins moving over the surface, only seen by additional heat, which, considering Johnny’s elated and outworked state, is definitely present.
Franklin’s small hand pulls up the visor. “Hi there, little guy,” Johnny says, voice heavily muffled through the material. He giggles, looking into Johnny’s blue eyes, now standing out even more by the redness of his skin and the dark of his helmet isolating the rest.
He spots a reporter walking toward him, and pulls off the helmet with a practiced one-handed move. He sets it down on the hood of his car, the text ‘LIGHT IT UP’ staring into the camera lens.
Franklin huffs, having sat through enough races in the pit to know what this means. He shoves his face into the crook of Johnny’s neck, supposedly not caring that Johnny is red and sweaty all over.
The little boy grabs a handful of Johnny’s hair and twists his fingers through it, using his own little reality to pass the time.
“Storm! Let’s discuss that absolute move, shall we?” The reporter starts, and it’s not really a question, because the camera and microphone have already been shoved in his face.
He chuckles, putting on a cocky smile. “Well, not much to say, is there? Went as expected.” Johnny slightly rocks Franklin in his arms. “Absolutely crushing Parker in the last few seconds and – ah, speak of him! Mr. Parker! Please!”
Ah, hell . It’s too late for Johnny to leave now, especially when he already sees Peter walk in his vicinity in the corner of his eye. The mop of brown hair stands beside him, the red helmet held under his arm. Johnny puts on his best flashy smile for the camera, putting most of his attention on Franklin.
“...and, Storm?” The interviewer suddenly breaks his daze. He looks up into the camera lens, offering her a sweet, slightly confused smile.
“What was that?” He asks lightly, a small glance toward Peter and back to the reporter.
“I asked if you had any words for Parker, as well.” Huh . Peter had words for him, did he? He can shove those right up his –
Johnny tightly smiles. “He has a lot to learn.”
His handler comes brushing through, sticking a hand between Johnny and the microphone. He places his other hand firmly on the shoulder Franklin isn’t leaning on.
“Okay, that’s all for today, folks. We have a briefing to manage.” He says, steering Johnny away from the press – and Parker. They move – further into the paddock behind walls where press can’t reach them.
Sue waits there for him, with Reed at her side. Ben is standing there, too, but admiring some works hung up on the walls. Funny. He’s been here numerous times before, but he continues to stare as if it’s something he’s never seen before.
Johnny hands over Franklin, much to his dismay.
“Well?” He asks, putting his hands on his hips and looking at his family for approval.
Reed raises a brow.
“You waited for the box at the last possible second. Millisecond, if I’m precise. Which we’ve both been over – and I know I’m not your pit crew anymore – but that isn’t ideal . Especially not with someone like Parker on your trail continuously.”
Reed looks to his side, Sue with her blonde hair tucked behind her ears, which Franklin clearly isn’t a fan of – as he picks the strands of hair away from his mother’s ears.
“And that –” she starts, readjusting her hold on Franklin. “That way you rejoined on the 12th lap? Hated that. You made Thompson spin just to avoid you coming head on.”
Johnny shrugs, still with an open stance. Sue sighs. “You won, though, so…”
Ben turns around from the art pieces he’s certainly seen before, putting his hands on either of their shoulders. “What these two numbnuts mean to say is you did great and we’re all proud of ya.” He says, a grin on his face.
He pulls away his hands from his hips and lifts them, in a sort of relieved manner. “ There we go. Thank you, Ben.”
“That dingbat just got what he deserved,”
“What, Thompson? You barely know him –”
“No, no! Peter! Peter Parker!” Johnny exclaims, and Franklin’s face beams up while simultaneously exploding in giggles as he watches his uncle raise his voice slightly.
Sue pinches the bridge of her nose. “Here we go.” She mutters, but Johnny pays no mind to it. Johnny unzips part of his suit and ties it around his waist, pushing the sleeves of his fireproof undershirt up to his elbow.
“I’m just saying. That guy has everything, and now he wants another win ?”
He sighs heavily, almost in frustration. “That guy has been up my ass for years –”
“Three of them.” Reed interjects. Johnny holds up a hand to his face.
“Bothering me, pestering me, shoving in my face that he’s better and he has it all . Annoying, stupid Parker. Jesus,” He brushes a hand through his hair, letting it settle on top of his head.
Sue squints at him, raising her brows ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was raising two toddlers?”
Johnny groans. “No, but Sue trust me, you just –” “I just don’t get it, yeah , yeah. I was a driver before you, bro. Literally. You got into this because of me. Anyways – we have to go. I’m really sorry. But Franklin’s been cranky even though it doesn’t seem like it.”
He exhales, stepping forward to pinch Franklin’s cheeks. “Okay. Behave, huh, little guy? She already raised me. You cannot be worse than me. Seriously,”
Johnny smiles as he waves out his family.
Time to get to work.
BAXTER HOME COMPOUND
SECTOR 4
8:32 P.M.
Johnny sits with his leg tucked under him, rewatching the race on the television. As Baxter Racing’s golden boy – he’s quite automatically ‘earned’ the privilege to live there. If you ask Johnny, it’s to keep him on a tight leash more than anything.
He lives, breathes and will most likely die here.
The home circuit is connected to the pit, then the paddocks, which then deepens into the Baxter Home Compound. The entirety of the premises is divided into sectors, making it easier to locate Johnny seemingly at all times with security cameras in nearly every room.
It doesn’t really matter what for – photoshoots, interviews, briefings or a fitting, with the sleek and industrial look on the inside Johnny is easy to find. He stands out in the bleak interior.
He rewatches his entrance on the twelfth lap that Sue took note on – admittedly, she was right. Johnny got blinded by his emotions mid-race, what exactly about he can’t remember, chances are Parker’s stupid face, causing him to aggressively rejoin the race.
Johnny grumbles at his past decisions, his hand finding a place in his hair.
He rewatches it again. The commentary repeats in his head as he watches it again. Over, and over. Until he can pinpoint the exact moment that he got too in over his head and made Thompson’s car twist and turn until he just barely stabilized himself – pinpoints the millisecond he jumped back on the track and that if he did so just a second later, Thompson might’ve flipped over and gotten seriously hurt.
There’s a creak . Something subtle – not even noticeable if you don’t spend every waking moment here. Johnny stands up, moving toward the door along a hallway, his own room at the start. He moves forward.
He stiffens once he sees Peter, leaning looking at pictures strung up over the wall beside the open corridor.
“Parker.” He says, lowly, arms crossed. Peter turns, helmet still under his arm as if he hadn’t left since the end of the damn race.
He nods toward the screen replaying the clip behind him. “Watching your own fuck-up on loop?” Peter snarks, with the slight raise of a brow and the adjustment of his helmet under his arm.
Johnny huffs out through his nose. “Sue asked me to review it.”
The other hums, still reeking of burnt asphalt and slight sweat. “Said something nice about you at the press today. Expected you to return the favor,”
He clicks his tongue, pulling a hand through his blonde hair. “Wasn’t personal,” he says, lightly shrugging.
Peter’s brow arches, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Looks like you have a lot to learn as well, then.”
Something crackles between them. Johnny is sure it’s the absolute force of which he’s going to fucking break his jaw with – his fist clenching in the crossing of his arms.
He steps forward, unfolding his arms.
Johnny pushes Peter against the wall with more force than he intends. His overall tied around the middle, pants still on and the fireproof long sleeve pooled up to his elbows. His hands find its home on the planes of Peter’s body like an instinct, a practice, as if they’ve done this numerous times before. As if this isn’t a spur of the moment decision.
Peter breathes heavily, his overall still fully zipped up. The Stark Tech patches look right back at Johnny, along with some other patches. Irrelevant. He did mean to punch him, but somehow that train of thought exited his brain almost as soon as it entered it.
Johnny’s hand plants itself on the side of Peter’s neck, and he leans in. Their lips meet in the middle – Peter must’ve been leaning in, too, and they move against each other. Johnny has a thought passing by, that, Peter is nothing like he’s ever tasted before. Their teeth clash, Johnny unconsciously moving his hips against Peter. Maybe it is conscious. Can you really blame him?
His hands fiddle together at the zipper, pulling it down to his middle and letting it fall down like a sweater tied around his waist. Johnny pulls the fireproof undershirt up, his hand dipping underneath it. It rests on Peter’s tummy, first, softer than Johnny had expected – if he’d even had expectations for Peter. It moves to his sides, fingertips raking up and down. He feels him get goosebumps, feels the hitch of his breath into his mouth and the sound – the beautiful noises that Peter is letting out. Johnny feels a tug on his hair.
Johnny leans back, his hair standing up in several places that it definitely never had before, and looks at Peter with focused eyes. He breathes heavily through an open mouth, his body reacting beautifully to Johnny’s touch – a jerk by the prickle of his unfamiliar fingers, but leaning back in right after. Johnny’s hand slaps against the wall as he steadies himself.
“Need you,” Peter murmurs, his head leaning against the wall as he looks at the blond over his nose.
Johnny nods, swallowing audibly. “Yeah.” He rasps, before leaning in to nip at Peter’s goosebump ridden throat. Peter’s slender fingers move through Johnny’s blonde strands again, and lock themselves in place when Johnny licks over his Adam’s apple.
“Your room,” Peter murmurs at his temple, nose bending to his skin. “Yours,”
He hums, continuing to explore every corner of Peter’s warm mouth with his, determined to keep it in his mind forever. Together, they stumble a little more to the left, conveniently having situated themselves metres from Johnny’s room. He struggles through his pockets, resulting in Peter pulling away, giving him a strange look.
“Already? I –” Johnny huffs at Peter’s implication. “Keycard. Pervert,” he says, holding the card toward the door. A beep. He pushes the door open, pulling Peter with him. There’s a short giggle between them, but once the door clicks shut, it’s like their dynamic completely flips.
Peter is kissing Johnny now, not the other way around.
And Peter. God, Peter, he knows what he’s doing. His tongue moves like he knows exactly where Johnny’s sensitive spots are, like he knows which patches of skins are particularly tender after a race.
“Didn’t expect a stuck-up geek like you to – hah .” Johnny stops his sentence, doesn’t get to finish it, as Peter brushes his tongue just under the shell of his ear, and a hand that has wormed his way up Johnny’s fireproof shirt twists around his nipple, pushing a high pitched noise out of Johnny that he’s not quite sure he let out willingly.
Johnny feels himself get pushed down back first onto the bed. Huh. When’d they move here? Peter’s hands trail over his jaw, examining him.
“Didn’t expect me to… ?” He says, a sleek grin on his face. Of-course it looks ridiculously good on him. Parker Luck, he supposes. He looks back up to Peter, who hovers above him, a knee between his legs.
Johnny groans, throwing an arm over his eyes unceremoniously. “ Jesus , Pete,” he squirms, but Peter’s knee persists to his crotch.
Peter tuts, and taps somewhere between the side of his thigh and his ass. “Focus. Get your legs up.”
And Johnny, who without even removing his eyes from the crook of his elbow, puts his legs up. Peter holds them up, over his hips, hands exploring the back of his thighs and his calves still covered by the blue coloured suit. It’s funny – Peter didn’t ask Johnny to lift his legs, but told him to. All those drills and training sessions must’ve worked on Johnny, carved into his brain. Maybe they understand each other better than they think.
Johnny released a ragged breath, his chest stuttering as Peter works on peeling the rest of the suit off of him. He works slowly, precisely. Carefully; just as he drives. Too much of a coward to take the leap. Johnny is left in his boxers and undershirt, both a solid black. He already feels bare, just under Peter’s eyes; he can’t even see him. Johnny sees specks of stars under his eyelids as he presses his elbow deeper into his skin.
Peter hums appreciatively, fingers moving up the undershirt again, pooling it up, just under his armpits. “C’mon,” Peter gently urges, one of his hands coming up to peel Johnny’s arm away. Blue eyes blink at him. “Let’s get this off,”
He lifts his arms, and uses the few seconds of darkness to think as Peter pulls the undershirt off of his body. Johnny has slept with people before, but never like this . Strangely enough, it feels different, but maybe it has to do with the fact that Peter and Johnny had never really gotten along before. The difference here is that Johnny hadn’t smothered Peter with a melting smile or with lingering touches – in fact, the most ‘looks’ he’d given Peter were exchanged glares and an unwilling handshake on the podium as the champagne flew over their hair.
“You usually talk so much, what’s so different now?” Johnny asks, his breath hitching as his brows furrow. Peter hasn’t said a ton, which is a stark contrast from their usual antics - Peter is really hard to shut up, even if you don’t like each other.
Peter’s hand palms him through his boxers.
“Your waistband says ‘on fire’?” He asks, a smile growing on his face as he looks down.
Johnny twitches, which Peter definitely feels under the palm of his hand, as he breaks out in a laugh. His hand lands over his eyes again as he feels his face warm up.
“Ah-ah,” Peter coos, hand never leaving Johnny’s boxers – and Johnny swears he actually put more pressure on his movements – but his other hand raises up to peel Johnny’s hand away from his face, intertwining their fingers. “Don’t. I want to see you,”
He nods loosely, looking up at Peter’s bright face and murmuring a soft ‘okay’. Johnny feels like he’s on fire. “Pretty boy,” Peter muses, almost subconsciously. Johnny hitches, because Peter has called him that before – just never like this . The tone in his voice is different, lower, and a hell of a lot smoother. Not to mention the fact that it’s usually meant to be taken as an insult.
Peter’s eyes lock with his, brown eyes landing on blue.
“Your dick twitches a lot.”
Johnny feels warmth creep up his neck. “I – what?!” Johnny splutters, dragging a hand over his face. This is a kind of embarrassment that losing the Grand Prix wouldn’t even get him.
“Just saying. Maybe it says something about you. Your dick twitches a lot, which probably has some connection with your twitchy driving style,”
Johnny blinks up at him. Once. Twice. His brows furrow as he watches Peter break out in a grin. The blonde smacks the side of his arm with a pang .
The brunet laughs at him, hair flopping down from his head and in front of his forehead. His laugh leaves his mouth smoothly, almost gently – not so much of a bark as he’d heard before when they’d been in each other's space before. Johnny rolls his eyes.
“Okay. Okay,” Peter lightly says, the remnants of a laugh still in his voice. He leans in to kiss Johnny, their mouths connecting openly – he feels Peter’s tongue move against his but not so much of a fight as it was outside of the room. This is more of a symbiosis than anything, which leaves Johnny sighing into it.
Peter’s fingers trail down Johnny’s bare chest, moving down his sides as his fingers hook onto his boxers. Johnny raises his legs, leaving Peter to move them to the side instead of hooked over his sides, pulling them off and discarding them somewhere on the floor.
Johnny’s cock arches up against his belly, the tip starting to form an angry red with pre-come dripping out. It’s nearly embarrassing enough for him to cover his eyes again. Nearly .
“You’re a little too clothed for my liking,” He utters instead, breaths coming in shorts bursts and shaky exhales with eyes sneakily looking just past Peter’s brown ones, which examine every part of his body. Well, more like one specific part of his body.
Peter, oh Peter , has the audacity to laugh . Johnny’s mouth slowly falls open in bewilderment.
He shakes his head. “No, I just – god . I thought the guy you were on track was some kind of, I don’t know, persona? You were putting on? Maybe that’s on me.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean !”
Peter grins, pulling Johnny up into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, with him standing in between his legs. “That you don’t have a whole lot of patience. You wanna take this off me?”
Johnny huffs at his comments. As if . Johnny Storm has patience , thank you. He pulls down the zipper with an urgency he hadn’t shown before, stripping him down to just his underclothing.
He pulls up Peter’s undershirt, tugging it upward. He lets Peter do the rest of the work himself, resting his lips on the outline of his cock through his briefs. He sticks his tongue out – lining it out. Primarily as a joke, but there’s something about it. Something to dissect for another time.
Peter chuckles above him. His hair is rough and sticking out on several sides, the shirt having left his body – most likely somewhere on the floor along with Johnny’s boxers. Johnny bats his eyes up to watch. “Jesus. Freak ,” He mutters, a hand over his mouth, tone playful. With an attractive smile on his face that boils Johnny’s blood and somehow makes him feel like he could get even harder.
“Watch it. Don’t forget who has the upper hand right now,” Johnny says, baring his teeth through the fabric of his boxers, scraping his teeth.
Peter huffs through his mouth, leaning down to brush a strand of hair behind Johnny’s ear as Johnny busies himself with pulling down Peter’s boxers. No inscription. Boring. He feels kisses being pressed to the side of his head. “You got lube here?” Peter mumbles through a kiss, somewhere at the space between his temple. Johnny nods breathlessly, signalling his hand to a nightstand.
Peter rumbles through the drawer, finding a small bottle and uncapping it with a solid click . He laughs shortly.
“God, you laugh about everything. What is it now?” He asks tightly.
“Vanilla?” Peter says, face formed in a half-smile as his brow arches up, lathering his fingers up with the cool consistency at the same time.
Johnny rolls his eyes, eyes focused on the small area of skin below Peter’s belly button. He’s not trying to directly look at his dick — but it is right in front of him, and Johnny would kiss it all the same.
“Most girls like it,” he weakly offers.
Peter smiles open mouthedly, his free fingers pushing him down on the bed again. The brunet hovers over him again, inching closer to his face.
“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling with that racer persona of yours, Johnny, but I know better than anyone you have the incapability to just sleep around ,”
Johnny feels Peter’s cold fingers inch lower, his legs once again hooked around Peter’s hips, in a way that Johnny hadn’t even considered would be able to feel gentle, especially not from Peter of all people.
“I sleep with other people,” Johnny murmurs, gaze averted, as Peter outright snorts.
“No, Johnny. Your team decides you sleep with other people, who sign NDA’s which tell them to not tell anyone you didn’t actually sleep together,”
Peter slowly inserts a first finger to his knuckle.
“Pete,” Johnny briefly closes his eyes, wanting to reply with a snarky reply badly — but inhaling deeply instead.
He grasps at the bedding, Peter, anything that feels natural. Which is how he apparently ends up with both hands at the base of Peter’s neck.
“I know. Relax, I’ve got you,” Peter assures, moving his finger around the muscles, easing it through.
“Haven’t done this in a while, huh?” He says, placing a kiss on a beauty mark just under Johnny’s left eye.
He sighs, trying his best to ease his muscles as Peter works a second finger in.
“Long enough to have me struggle over just your fingers, apparently," Johnny replies, a mix of annoyance and frustration tinged within his voice.
“How will you handle my cock then, hm?” It’s now Johnny’s turn to hold in his snort — almost barking a laugh out of the sheer amount of uncharacteristicness this brings from Peter.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His wry response seems to satisfy Peter — he leans down to press a kiss against his mouth. Johnny gingerly takes it, encircling his arms around Peter’s shoulders to make it last.
“I’m ready — just,” Johnny says, pausing between his words and his hands dig themselves into Peter’s brown hair.
Peter licks his lips, seeming to understand Johnny’s plea. It’s not as if he was being extremely subtle about it, but a confirmation isn’t unwanted.
“You sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” He asks, a slight nervous waver in his voice, and there the slightly-awkward all too careful driver Johnny knows is standing again.
Johnny wants to make a dumb remark, maybe a joke insulting him for his cautiousness despite this not being their first rodeo, but instead looks up at him with big eyes and nods. He’s tried to make a joke like that before, which Peter didn’t exactly appreciate.
Peter nods as well in response, managing to find the small bottle still uncapped with his free hand. He slowly removes his fingers, squirting some substance in the palm of his hand. He evens it out over his hand, moving to divide and spread it over the length – Johnny can see the slight goosebumps that form as the cold moves over Peter, and him trying his best not to release a shaky breath from the sensation. He holds in a chuckle.
A hand calmly finds its way over Johnny’s jaw, as he sees Peter’s face hovering just above him. Their lips connect, softly, first. Their lips pull and release together like waves coming over the beach sand. It turns to be messier – as Johnny feels Peter pushing in, slowly, but not with too much caution.
Johnny raises his head up, eyes closed as a line of saliva continues to connect their lips despite not directly touching each other.
“Everything okay?” Peter asks, his hand coming to rest on the side of Johnny’s chest.
“Not sure. You in yet?” Johnny breathes out, rough and shallow.
“Alright, funny,” Peter says, leaning up a little bit. Johnny’s head follows to see what he’s planning now – not a whole lot spectacular, he presumes, because Peter is still inside him .
Peter’s hand moves down on Johnny’s lower belly. He splays out his fingers, seemingly trying to find an optimal spot for something . Johnny wants to roll his eyes. He isn’t a race track , he can’t be figured out with something as easy as –
Peter firmly presses down with his hand, dipping the skin beneath his palm lower. Peter feels himself and Johnny feels full , settling deep inside him. He lets his head fall back against the mattress again, a low moan slipping free from his mouth.
He leans down, scraping his teeth against Johnny’s throat. “At least we know I’m in there, don’t we?” Peter says, and he can just hear the smile through his voice despite not being able to see his face.
“Asshole.”
“That’s where I am right now, yes,”
Johnny bites his bottom lip, knitting his brows together.
“ Peter ,” He pleads, his voice cracking slightly.
Peter listens , nearly instantly, moving his hips and starting a rhythm that hasn’t crossed the line into fast yet, but it’s a decent pace that lets them enjoy each other – in this room, where they can pretend that they’re not enemies. They don’t talk about it, but Peter is a little softer here, even though he shows it through off-handed comments. Where Johnny’s insults are thrown around with a little less baring of his teeth.
The smacking of their skin together quickly moves into background noise, as Johnny focusses mostly on the mingling of their breaths – the touch of Peter’s hands over the planes of his chest and middle as if he’s something to care about, and the orchestra that their combined moans start to make.
Peter ups his pace, ever so slightly, moving one hand to Johnny’s cock and wrapping himself around it. His free hand holds the side of Johnny’s neck, starting another soft kiss. Some weird obsession he has, Johnny thinks, that Peter seems to like the sex (at least that’s what Johnny assumes, because they keep finding themselves back here), but he takes every moment he can to kiss Johnny’s lips senseless.
His hand starts moving over his length, while Peter still manages to keep up the pace.
“Pete, Pete. Peter,” Johnny repeats, whispering it while Peter leans his forehead over Johnny’s.
He nods onto his forehead, their skin squeaking together with the friction. “Johnny, I’m going to –” he barely finishes his sentence as Johnny feels him gently try to pull out.
Johnny locks his ankles over Peter’s lower back. “ Inside . Inside, please,” he pleads, staring up into Peter’s eyes. He pauses, for a moment, but continues on – staying inside, keeping up the pace and moving his hand over Johnny’s length.
Peter moves to him in such a perfect way that Johnny can’t really in his mind to describe it – not like he can really muster out any words right now if he wanted to, he’s a little preoccupied if he’s honest, feeling the warmth build up inside him.
A hand tilts Johnny’s face to the side, his blonde hair being pushed up and to the side so Peter can look at him. His mouth hangs slightly open, a sliver of glistening saliva brushing off the corner of his mouth.
Johnny feels his eyes slightly glass over, and his grip on Peter’s shoulders becomes tighter as his muscles instinctively lock together.
“I’m – oh, I’m going to –” Peter only nods at him, as Johnny finishes his sentence out with a drawn out moan. Johnny feels Peter finish inside of him before he gets the chance to finish himself, but it doesn’t take long after; the feeling of Peter is enough for the reaction to spur on with Johnny as well, his head jerking up first, but falling back onto the mattress as Peter strokes him through it.
Peter’s strokes are gentler, now, softer, not trying to get him on again but instead bringing him down from the high. His fingers are coated in Johnny’s come, as is Johnny’s own toned stomach, but the sticky feeling hasn’t quite landed yet and he’s quite content like this.
He leans over Johnny with his weight leaning on his forearms now, the strain of his muscles being pulled together and relaxing in such quick duration working on him.
Peter pulls out, with a precision that can only tell Johnny that he’s overworking that brain of his even when it’s turned to mush like this – clearly, otherwise they wouldn’t have made a decision like this again. Johnny clenches at the loss of contact, but quickly regains it as Peter collapses on top of him, moving to rest on his side as one hand comes to brush through Johnny’s hair.
Johnny looks up to the ceiling, his legs folded to the side as he feels Peter’s nose folded against his temple. Peter’s hand is still trailing its way over and through Johnny’s blonde hair.
“You wanna clean up?” He asks, voice a tinge deeper than it usually is.
He shakes his head, leaving Peter’s hand to rest on his cheek. “Not yet. Just like this,” Johnny murmurs, his hand coming up to hold Peter’s wrist. He briefly closes his eyes, deeply inhaling through his nose.
BAXTER HOME COMPOUND
SECTOR F, JOHNNY’S ROOM
9:04A.M.
When Johnny wakes up, Peter has left.
He’s tucked in nicely, wearing new boxers – ones that aren’t fireproof, but funnily enough have little spider insignias plastered all over them, and he’s supposedly been washed clean somewhere in the night without having been woken up.
Looking to his right, Johnny sees no indent or messy blanket. Peter clearly never stayed. There’s no note, message or barely any proof that Peter was there at all last night. The blanket is clean, it smells like fresh daisies in his room and there isn’t a pile of clothing strewn across the room.
Johnny hoists himself upright, leaning his head against the board. He turns, slightly reaching for his phone laying abandoned on his bedside table. Maybe some of his fans had some nice things to say about his performance yesterday – winning from Parker , the egotistical prick. Who would’ve thought?
Before he gets a chance to properly inspect the notifications overflowing his lockscreen, however, his phone rings. Sue’s face blurs over his screen, a photo of the two of them together. Back when Sue was a racer herself, and Johnny was just watching from the sidelines.
He wants to ignore her call, but something in him tells him he knows better.
Johnny slides to pick up, and puts the phone to his ear.
“Grid Command. Now ,” She nearly growls into the phone, making Johnny exhale audibly into the phone.
“Good morning ? What ever happened to–” Dial tone.
Johnny pulls the phone away from his ear in near shock, and watches stupidly as the phone screen goes dark once it announces that his sister did, in fact, hang up on him.
Grid Command it is, then.
He steps out of the bed, finding some loose pants and a comfortable shirt to dress himself in. Something presentable, but nothing that screams ‘Formula One Champion Johnny Storm’ (although that does have a nice ring to it), but something that’s just ‘Johnny’.
Johnny patters through the bleak interior of the campus, moving through hallways until he finds the slightly red-toned part of the building. Something about him being on ‘fire’.
BAXTER HOME COMPOUND
SECTOR A, GRID COMMAND
9:20A.M.
He opens the door to be met with an entire table of people seated, including his PR manager, his handler, half of his current pit crew and his sister – along with his brother-in-law. Ben isn’t seated, nor is Franklin here, so he must be on child duty.
There’s one chair scooted back, an invite for him to sit down at the head of the table.
Johnny arches a brow, pattering on just his socks toward the open seat and planting himself down on it. He folds one leg up, holding his knee with his hand. He eyes his crew with a suspicious glance and big eyes.
“Johnny.” Sue starts, and he can tell from the ice-cold tone that this isn’t a warning. This isn’t even a precaution – not a news article gone wrong about him flipping someone off, not him getting into a verbal argument with press, no. She never uses this tone. Barely got to this point when he spiralled after a bad year. “Have you opened your phone this morning?”
He loosely shakes his head. “No, I left my phone in my room,”
Before he can offer, a laptop is shoved in front of his face. It’s opened on Twitter.
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F1 News Hub @FormulaNews Security footage shared with us from an unknown source show rivals Johnny Storm (Baxter Racing) and Peter Parker (Stark GP) spotted together! Things seem to be getting steamy in Baxter Home Compound 🔥 Enemies, or a strategic front? [video attachment]
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Johnny swallows as the video plays. It’s grainy and in a black and white format – barely even big enough to properly qualify as a leak. Despite this, he knows exactly what’s going on.
The video is dated to yesterday. It shows Johnny, shoving Peter against the wall. It continues on, and Johnny watches as he sees himself dip his fingers into Peter’s shirt, exploring the planes of his body.
Johnny freezes up, rigidly watching them kiss – slow, desperate and hungry – and their hands roam over each other on the low-quality video. He jumps when he hears Peter moan, because apparently their security feed picks up audio as well, and slams the laptop shut.
He feels his fingers tingle as he looks up with widened eyes, roaming over his crew.
“I– I don’t – I never..” There’s a waver in his voice along with a lump in his throat, and if Johnny had any say in this he would sink through the ground. Logically, he knows that’s not possible – Johnny doesn’t have any say in this, Baxter Racing has the say in this.
Reed licks his lips, looking down onto the table. He exchanges a look with his PR manager.
“We’ve already had sponsors pull out, Johnny,” He states, intertwining his hands.
Johnny looks up, glassy eyes with knitted brows and a mouth that slightly hangs open. He feels the frustration bubbling inside of him, the heat bubbling just underneath his skin.
“Why are you two telling me this!” He yells, extending his arm toward Reed and Sue. “You’re not even on my crew anymore!”
He watches Sue tighten her lips, shortly avoiding his gaze as she looks back at him.
“You have a press conference about yesterday’s race in a few hours, be prepared for–”
“ Stop ! You’re my sister , not my strategist!” He yells, standing up with a harder force than he’d expected – causing the chair to fall over on the back support behind him. “And you ,” he starts, pointing an accusing finger at Reed.
“You are not my engineer. Haven’t been for a long while. And you sure as hell are not my brother.”
There’s a silence as Johnny’s chest heaves. His crew is either staring at him in shock, because they’ve never seen him as anything else but strangely motivated – or pointedly avoiding his general direction.
He watches Sue sit, Reed but a firm hand on her shoulder as she looks down onto the hardwood table.
Johnny’s right eye twitches as he breathes shakily through his teeth, a tear dripping out onto the bridge of his nose. “I would’ve spoken up for you.” He grits, and turns around with heavy footsteps as he rushes out of the room.
COFFEE BEAN
EAST VILLAGE, LOWER MANHATTAN
11:23A.M.
Johnny sits scooted against a flimsy table in the back of the cafe, a sports cap pushed deep on his head with sunglasses perched on his nose.
Not the best disguise he’s had — but Johnny was in a bit of a rush. All he knew is that he needed to get out of the building.
Realistically, could this have been avoided? Most certainly. Johnny knows the Baxter Buildings like the back of his hand, and knows every blind spot that the cameras have. He just hoped that the people that have watched him bloom into a world champion wouldn’t also be the ones to leak his half-assed hate fuck in the hallway.
The coffee he ordered about an hour ago has lost its steam; long having turned cold as he obsessively scrolls through the Twitter feed on his phone. He’d turned on Do Not Disturb a while ago – he’d respond to Sue’s calls when he felt like it. He can take a minute to update himself on his supposed love life before he undoubtedly gets invasive questions about it before his press conference in a few hours.
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sasshaa →→ GRAND PRIX WIN @baxtershooter8 baxter compound footage leaks me: so this is obviously edited peter MOANS me: ok so nvm
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marcus @gridkissed who else remembers last season when post-race peter told johnny 'don't act like i don't know you'? yeah. yeah
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k <3 @sunshined OKAY WELL I WAS JOKING WHEN I WROTE THAT ENEMIES TO LOVERS PIECE GUYS WHAT THE FUSKDCHDSKJFHJFSLKDKF THEY KISSED? THEY ACUTLALSKJHSLJKDG
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johnny's legal advisor @parkerstormed MONACO '22. the stare and the tension. when peter walked up to johnny post qual without a word and just stared at him. 7 seconds. NOW WE KNOW WHY. IT ALL MAKES SENSE. [📸 image attachments]
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marianne @racktruths how tf are people acting like the monaco thing is cute?? that's literally cheating --@ peter literally had a GIRLFRIEND during monaco. the timeline makes 0 sense& its disgusting.
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sav @alarmclocknoise explains y storm has always been driving like a fkn clown lmao. peak nepotism and unprofessionalism at its finest. storm ended when sue dropped out lets be fr
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Johnny wiggles his thumbs over the small touchscreen of his phone. He gnaws at his bottom lip, wanting to desperately reply – prove them wrong, explain . But he knows he can’t. There’s no way in hell.
Peter never cheated in Monaco. Nothing ever happened in Monaco – Johnny gave Peter a broken nose in Monaco, which is, weirdly enough, how this whole ordeal started, but not that exact day. Especially not while Peter was still together with MJ – at least to the public.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Johnny can’t defend or disprove these, not without the permission of his legal team nor with the truth since so much of their lives is covered by a thin veil of carefully constructed white lies.
He closes his phone. Twitter first – he deletes the app off of his phone with a click. Not as if he tweeted a whole lot anyway, nothing important, for that matter.
BAXTER MEDIA CENTRE
SECTOR M, ROOM 203
1.00 P.M.
Johnny sits alone behind the long table.
He doesn’t have a namecard – he’s not Baxter’s only driver, but might as well be the only one they care about. Thus resulting in him being the only one ‘available’ for press questionnaire.
His hand finds its way to the plastic water bottle, and he nearly chugs it whole as silence falls over the room when the host announces him, not that he exactly needs an announcement, and starts picking out someone for the first question.
His hand finds its way to the plastic water bottle, and he nearly chugs it whole as silence falls over the room when the host announces him, not that he exactly needs an announcement, and starts picking out someone for the first question.
A reporter he recognizes from RacingGQ receives the mic.
There’s a tense silence over them; there’s no way they aren’t all up to date (considering it’s kind of their job to be up Johnny’s ass all the time), but nobody’s sure how to start asking about it.
“So, Mr. Storm…” The reporter starts. Johnny chews on nothing.
“I’d like to discuss with you yesterday’s race. We’re all wondering… what you were thinking during your re-entrance on the twelfth lap and potentially endangering your opponent, Thompson.”
Johnny nearly sighs in pure relief.
“Well, not a whole lot, I can tell you,” He says, leaning down into the mic as his voice booms through. The reporters fall off in uneven chuckles. Johnny clears his throat.
“No, I… I made a lapse in my judgement and re-entered in a way that was dangerous for myself and my opponents. That was on me, and we’re both lucky to come out of it unharmed.”
The reporter nods, jotting it down on his paper block as his host takes the mic from him.
His host walks toward a reporter he swears he recognizes – he can’t exactly put his finger on it. There’s no time to hang up on it though, as the reporter opens his mouth as soon as he gets handed the mic. Bad sign.
“Johnny, I thought I’d just ask the question we are all wondering,” Ah . That was where he recognized him from. Racing tabloid.
“ What was that video with you and Parker? Looked to be getting quite intimate if you ask me.”
Johnny blinks at him.
He sees his host signalling at him from the side, but he holds up a hand. If he was going to answer this, it was going to be his way.
He leans down to the microphone. “Well you saw the video, didn’t you? I think you know what that was,”
The reporter doesn’t have to think long about his response. As if he was planning this; Johnny just played right into his game.
“I think I speak for all of us when I say we never took you for a queer.”
Johnny feels something in him sink. There’s a horrible feeling spreading throughout him – at first, he just felt bad that Sue hadn’t offered proper support, but now, he feels watched. Invaded. Dirty .
He swallows, looking down at the mic stand.
The host and security are already working on it, though, as the host retrieves the microphone and his security is ushering him out of the room with an urgency that hasn’t really happened before in this room.
The security is talking at him, not to him as they escort him out into another area of the Baxter Compound. He can’t really bring it in himself to reply as he dimly watches everything happen around him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind it feels stupid. Him, a grown man, can have sex with whoever the hell he wants. Despite this, the comment somehow caught him off guard completely — pushing him off whatever high ground he was standing on and making him start again from ground zero.
Well, so much for self-growth.
He ends up in front of his own bedroom door. He numbly fumbles for the keycard, bleeping it against the door and letting his security stand there. Holding wait for nothing in particular.
Johnny sits on the edge of the bed. The same place where Peter was pushing him down just the night before — and it all feels so strange now, because he’s never felt dirty about it before. There was never a doubt in his mind that what he and Peter were doing felt good , the only thing that felt wrong was the fact that Peter was an annoying dickhead who always seemed to get what he wanted.
The darkness of his room holds him, or maybe hides him, from the sudden depth he’s found himself in.
The unlocking of his door lets light spill in. He lifts his head from his self-deprecating mantras, looking up to see who this intruder was.
Sue walks towards him, closing the door behind her. She’s wearing sweatpants, and a hoodie. Some logo on it he doesn’t recognise.
“If you’ve come here to lecture me, you can leave.” Johnny lowly says, his gaze falling down again.
Sue hadn’t come here to lecture him, apparently — as she steps forward to put her hands on Johnny’s face, holding him close to her stomach like she used to do when it was just the two of them and the world was just as cruel.
Her nails scratch through his hair, reminding Johnny of the times he used to wake up with nightmares, not being able to fall asleep again until his big sister comforted him through the terror.
“I’m sorry, Johnny.” She murmurs. “That was nobody’s business but yours.” Her hands curling around him as Johnny leans himself further into his sister, cheek plastered against the soft fabric of her hoodie.
Johnny furrows his brows together, and tries hard to keep the stinging sensation from his eyes — but it’s useless, as the tears slowly start moving down his face.
“I didn’t mean what I said this morning.” He whispers, voice cracking.
Her fingers soothingly press into his scalp. She whispers in return. “I know. I’m sorry, too,”
Johnny opens his mouth to speak, but Sue beats him by the minute. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Not right now,”
He nods into her sweater, releasing a shaky breath.
“Do you like him?” Sue asks, her voice carefully lifted.
“No.” Johnny breathes out.
“Do you love him?”
A beat.
“Enough to terrify me.” He closes his eyes. “He sees the worst in me. And still chooses me. I don’t know how to stop.”
Sue moves her hand to the side of Johnny’s face, slowly pulling his face up so he looks at her while she crouches down in front of him. Johnny feels small, like this, because the last time Sue had crouched down like this in front of him might’ve been when Johnny fell off of his small bike and scraped his knee – crying for his mom on instinct, before realising that she wouldn’t, couldn’t be able to console his hurts, and instead Sue came running.
Her gaze is intense. “You don’t have to.”
Johnny’s face turns into a twisted frown as he continues to cry, tears streaming down his reddened skin despite the fight he’s attempting to put up to not do that.
“He doesn’t want me. Not like that,”
Sue’s hands find his, loosely laid on his lap as she squeezes them together. “I think you two understand each other better than you give credit for.”
Johnny closes his eyes despite himself. “I want him. I need him here,” He whispers, so softly, he’s not even sure if Sue properly heard him.
He feels his sister’s hands pull away from his. He doesn’t open his eyes to look – or ask what she’s planning, because when he heard the gentle buzz of Sue unlocking her phone, he already knows.
She’s already contacting him.
Johnny isn’t sure how much time has passed when the door opens – Sue is gone, the silence had taken him, but he does know that it hasn’t been long enough for Peter to arrive here out of the blue without being in the area.
He smells Peter’s body wash, the familiar shampoo that accompanies it – making him think of the times he’s deeply buried his nose into his hair, nails scratching over Peter’s pale back. It’s nearly enough to make him lurch.
Peter walks into the room, still wearing the stupid red Nike’s he always does – simple white with a red logo, too good to take them off in Johnny’s sterile decorated living space, pattering forward to stop a few feet away from where he sits on the edge of the bed.
Johnny licks his bottom lip, gently biting on it to keep it from trembling. He looks up, eyes briefly locking with Peter’s before he makes himself walk away, wavering.
“You didn’t have to come here.”
Peter’s jaw ticks – his hand clenches at his sides.
“Don’t.” His voice low. “I was – I’ve been trying not to come here. Every chance I had. Because I didn’t think I had the right to.”
Johnny lets out a wet laugh. “Yeah, you got here way too quickly. There’s easier people to fuck.”
He hears Peter’s tongue click, as he dares himself to move his eyes onto Peter’s.
“What?” Peter’s voice is rough now.
“Can’t say I’m exactly what you had in mind. You can’t even stand me,”
Peter pulls a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t want you? Jesus, Johnny.”
He takes a step forward, and Johnny feels a warm hand placed on his shoulder. Peter is right in front of him; and for some reason it seems quite unreal that Peter, the guy he’s spent years and months of his life fighting with – the media putting an extra layer of pressure on their rivalry, would want him. Could even hold a proper conversation with him, despite the proof laying right in front of him.
Johnny casts his gaze downward, breath hitching as Peter comes down to eye-level with him. Not to push him down – not to undress him, but to just look at him.
“Johnny.” Peter firmly says, his hand moving toward his jaw. “I have wanted you for a long time.”
He turns his face into Peter’s warm palm. “I didn’t want to fall in love, not at all, I was content just to loathe you. But at some points you smiled and…”
His blonde hair is brushed aside out of his field of vision by Peter’s other hand, making him nearly hold his face between them.
“It was always going to be you.”
Johnny sniffs, feeling Peter brush away the tears that he didn’t even register started falling off of his face again – causing him to sob, borderlining violently shudder as something akin to a shriek comes out of him.
Peter doesn’t say anything. Not like he usually does – no remark, no joke, barely even a hitch. He lets Johnny collapse into him and holds him up throughout it.
“I hope you know,” Johnny huffs and sniffles, feeling the wetness of his nose. “I’m only crying because that was extremely cheesy, and I understand why your girlfriend broke up with you,”
Peter laughs, quietly, only for Johnny to hear. Once he simmers down, his hand rests behind the shell of Johnny’s ear.
“We did nothing wrong.” Peter says to him, a tinge louder – because this isn’t something just for Johnny to hear, it’s something for everyone to understand .
Johnny’s fingers tremble as they find their way to Peter’s sweater, fumbling with the soft fabric.
“It doesn’t feel like that,”
“Only because that’s what they’ve made us feel like.”
Johnny looks back up into Peter’s eyes, still firm in his hold. “Can you stay?”
Peter looks back at him with a reverence in his eyes he’s only seen before when he looks at the champagne flying around or the trophy that’d landed in his hands.
“I am.”
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Peter Parker ✔︎ @PeterbParker In light of recent events, I would like to speak out on behalf of Johnny Storm and my's relationship.
What has leaked was never meant to be seen by the general public. This was an intimate and private moment in our personal lives, which we never had the intention of clashing with our professional lives.
I would like to clarify; I am sorry that you had to see it have light shed on it like this. Not for the fact that I am painstakingly in love with Johnny -- yes he did break my nose in Monaco, and no we didn't sleep together there -- that is something I will not apologise for.
Anyone seen reposting the video will have to personally deal with me and fun fact i am the proud owner of a .2 glock and i am fully trained and licensed. |
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ⓘ This Tweet has been removed.
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Peter Parker ✔︎ @PeterbParker In light of recent events, I would like to speak out on behalf of Johnny Storm and my's relationship.
What has leaked was never meant to be seen by the general public. This was an intimate and private moment in our personal lives, which we never had the intention of clashing with our professional lives.
I would like to clarify; I am sorry that you had to see it have light shed on it like this. Not for the fact that I am painstakingly in love with Johnny, that is something I will not apologise for.
We will share our lives with you on our own terms. Any individual continuing on to share the video will be brought into contact with Baxter Racing and Stark GP legal teams. |
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