Title: Stuff

Universe: Marvel Ultimates.

Rating: M to save myself trouble.

Authors note: Written in first person Pov as Peter Parker. It's an experiment.

Okay, it's a bit of an autumn fall thing... Spring winter.

B.C. and A.D.?


That's only if you go off birthdays.

... And being a superhero should get you a pass on the whole age of consent thing.

Okay so I'm stuck with the whole don't ask, don't tell, but....

... He didn't puke on me the first time he pulled my mask off. And I couldn't have looked good, I mean he'd had to pull it off it pry the tentacle thing out of my nose... I try not to think about what it was doing there.

And he'd kissed me anyway. Wow. If I'd ever needed more proof that I was a total fucking dweeb, it would have been the fact I didn't expect that. I mean, I'm supposed to be smart, right?

I failed at smart that day. Well. Relationship smart. I mean, I did stop those stupid plant things, and it would have counted as saving the day except Ironman was there and he got the credit because I was to frazzled from the kiss and he'd taken off cause hey, I'd freaked out at him like a total fucking dweeb, and okay, maybe it was my idea but Ironman was the guy on top of the heap for the big photo finish.

Heh. Photo finish. See, cause they were plants and plants use photo synthesis...

I'll shuttup now.

Maybe in a few years when checking into hotels with me isn't statutory anymore he'll come out of the closet. It's not like they can discharge Captain Fucking America, after all. Haaah, then he'd be precedent for a whole lotta lawsuits, but I don't know if he'd mind.

Course... They might declare him a private contractor.


"What," he asked me, afterward, kissing up a shoulder blade while I quietly gibbered to the pillow. "Do you think about? You used to be my little jack rabbit, you must be using some terrible mental images to hold back."

I turn red. "Stuff," I mutter.

~fin... but I'd probably write more of them if you asked.~