STICKY FINGERS » peter parker

FIFTEEN

"I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead..." she mumbled. "Webhead ran into a wall and I'm now Clara-juice."

He dared to kiss her cheek through the mask. "As if I'd let that happen."

She didn't read much into it. As she disentangled herself, her legs gave out and she fell to a floppy plop of bones on the floor. He squatted beside her, watching her every cautious movement. 

When she looked up, fury creased her forehead and she tried to shove his chest as if expecting him to fall on his ass. He didn't budge an inch. She decided to chastise him instead. Adorably at that. 

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Believe me, I've asked myself that question a lot more than you have."

She went on anyway. "You are so lucky you're cool and you protect people, web-butt, or I would've smashed your unprotected gonads into your inexplicable guts."

It was hard not to be impressed. Peter crossed his palms over his junk and pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Hey. You can take the piss out of whatever you want, Clara Rose, but don't you dare throw shade the old web-shooter. He's sensitive."

Her melodic laughter chimed in when she comfortably crossed her legs underneath her. Look at that—she'd gotten so relaxed in his presence. It made him want to punch something even more. 

"So," she said, keeping her tone light. "Why are we up here? Or what next—are we going to start trading Yo Mama jokes? I've got a bunch of those."

"Don't tempt me." Downright going off-topic. I seriously love this girl.

She chuckled. "Alright. The real deal."

Peter slumped down to the ground near her feet and sighed. "I would've loved to go on. All the anxiety has improved my comedic timing."

"Spidey's anxious?"

"Like hell. I'm going to get serious so, vibe with me for a bit."

Her face contorted to a grimace, leaning back a little "Yeah, you see, you're nice but I'm not the kind of person who'd just jump your bones—"

"No, not that vibe!" He rubbed his temples to hose his irritation down. "Like the mood! The web-shooter is off the hook!"

"Right, okay." She stiffened her spine and stared right into the white-arrowhead-eyes on his mask, still wracked with amusement. "Let's talk, webs. No jokes. This pretty trap is zipped." 

"I... uh..." He paused to suck a lungful of air and dying to return to the teasing spirits from a moment ago. "I don't know how to say this."

She had the nerve to smile wider. As always, it struck him down with another gut explosion. "That's so cobwebby." 

"You're shitting on your own ground rules," he accused. 

She giggled into a hand. "Last joke, I promise. Just lay it on the line for me."

Peter's stomach plunged unpleasantly as she waited. He tried to shake his head—as if to shake off the anxieties—and tried to get a hold of himself. He had to tell her right now. It was better off that this stupid lie ended with the person who started it. 

He started to panic when Clara Rose tilted her head to the side as if to figure out the shape of his expression around the mask. But, she was considerate enough to ignore her buzzing phone, time and place and wait for him to collect his overloaded brain.

"You won't run?" he asked in a murmur. It ended up as a plea.

"I've got nowhere to hide from you, webs."