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fic: Zombies Don't Make Everything Better, Apparently.
OH LOOK. I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED JOHNNY/PETER FIC ON AMMY'S BIRTHDAY. WHAT A COINCIDENCE!
Title: Zombies Don't Make Everything Better, Apparently.
Series: Marvel
Character/Pairing: Johnny/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 740
Author's note: Author's choice, author's choice, knowing the world is about to end isn't such a turn-on after all
So, it was Tuesday and they were saving the world again. Except this time, it was zombies and not Skrulls, a Maximoff family member nearing killing everyone, or Steve and Tony's bromance UST finally exploding in a supernova that ended everything.
Okay, the last one was a bit exaggerated, but seriously just standing in the room with them and you could feel the UST beams.
He had to admit that Pete looked pretty good with a shotgun. His spider powers weren't exactly doing much for the zombies. He'd punch them, and they'd just bounce back. So, they picked up this shotgun–well, it was a long story, but dead farmers were involved–and it turned out that Pete was a way better shot than anyone could've guessed, without practice, even. Sometimes it happened.
Or maybe Pete was just special like that.
Johnny didn't really need anything special like that, though. He was a walking flamethrower of awesome. When zombies came near him, they melted into icky goo. Sometimes, he just couldn't help making a dramatic pose. He almost did the back to back thing, like they were in a buddy cop movie, but Pete wasn't wearing the heat-proof suit this time, and he'd probably prefer to not have nth-degree burns on his back.
But it was all cool. Just a regular Tuesday preventing a zombie apocalypse which he would've thought had been Doom related, but he'd probably go for something way more elegant. Like little Doom bots which yelled Doom is your master and also were dressed really nice in expensive heat-resistant clothes.
Pete pistol (shotgun?)-whipped a zombie, which crashed into a pile, and Johnny sent out a spark its way, just to make sure Pete was doing well over there. Sure, he could handle his own, but flames generally made everything better in Johnny's opinion. Welll, except for forest fires, but you get the drift.
Slowly, awesome flaming punch by flaming punch, shotgun by shotgun, the hoard began to thin. Johnny actually let himself relax for a second, and that's when Pete ran out of shells and one of the zombies broke through. It scraped at him, and tore off the top of his spider suit. Its teeth were just ready to make Pete's brain into the Tuesday special when Johnny swooped in and grabbed it.
He pulled it back just enough to put the flames to maximum levels, thus taking out most of the rest of them. The ground was scorched, and mangled bodies of the once living dead were strewn about in the few places Johnny hadn't fried.
His hair was all mussed and dirty in this gritty pin up model way. There were tears in his spider suit, revealing snatches of his chest, and wounds which only made Johnny want to pull him close and apply band-aids everywhere, not necessarily in that order.
Frankly, he'd never looked hotter.
And maybe it was the end of the world thing, or maybe sleep deprivation, but his self control went off on a journey somewhere far away.
"I have been wanting to do this forever," Johnny said. He tugged on the spider suit, and thought man if it didn't need a collar, just so he could make good use of it. And for a moment it was so warm and thrilling and great—
And then Peter pushed him away and gagged.
"What, do I need a Mentos?" Johnny asked with a little too much levity. His smile looked a bit strained, but Johnny always landed on his feet.
"No, it's not that. It's just that smell–"
Johnny looked down to his skintight suit. Now that he thought about it, he sort of smelled like barbequed braaaiiins.
"For the record, I wasn't trying to eat your face," Johnny said. "Or your brains."
Pete smiled a bit at that one.
"It's not that I'm not interested, even though we've never done this, or brought it up–it's just...can we have these confessions and possible tonsil hockey after we've showered?" Peter said.
"You have yourself a deal. I'll even throw some Mentos in," Johnny said.
And then they brofisted, because just because he was making out with Pete didn't mean they weren't still bros.
Title: Zombies Don't Make Everything Better, Apparently.
Series: Marvel
Character/Pairing: Johnny/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 740
Author's note: Author's choice, author's choice, knowing the world is about to end isn't such a turn-on after all
So, it was Tuesday and they were saving the world again. Except this time, it was zombies and not Skrulls, a Maximoff family member nearing killing everyone, or Steve and Tony's bromance UST finally exploding in a supernova that ended everything.
Okay, the last one was a bit exaggerated, but seriously just standing in the room with them and you could feel the UST beams.
He had to admit that Pete looked pretty good with a shotgun. His spider powers weren't exactly doing much for the zombies. He'd punch them, and they'd just bounce back. So, they picked up this shotgun–well, it was a long story, but dead farmers were involved–and it turned out that Pete was a way better shot than anyone could've guessed, without practice, even. Sometimes it happened.
Or maybe Pete was just special like that.
Johnny didn't really need anything special like that, though. He was a walking flamethrower of awesome. When zombies came near him, they melted into icky goo. Sometimes, he just couldn't help making a dramatic pose. He almost did the back to back thing, like they were in a buddy cop movie, but Pete wasn't wearing the heat-proof suit this time, and he'd probably prefer to not have nth-degree burns on his back.
But it was all cool. Just a regular Tuesday preventing a zombie apocalypse which he would've thought had been Doom related, but he'd probably go for something way more elegant. Like little Doom bots which yelled Doom is your master and also were dressed really nice in expensive heat-resistant clothes.
Pete pistol (shotgun?)-whipped a zombie, which crashed into a pile, and Johnny sent out a spark its way, just to make sure Pete was doing well over there. Sure, he could handle his own, but flames generally made everything better in Johnny's opinion. Welll, except for forest fires, but you get the drift.
Slowly, awesome flaming punch by flaming punch, shotgun by shotgun, the hoard began to thin. Johnny actually let himself relax for a second, and that's when Pete ran out of shells and one of the zombies broke through. It scraped at him, and tore off the top of his spider suit. Its teeth were just ready to make Pete's brain into the Tuesday special when Johnny swooped in and grabbed it.
He pulled it back just enough to put the flames to maximum levels, thus taking out most of the rest of them. The ground was scorched, and mangled bodies of the once living dead were strewn about in the few places Johnny hadn't fried.
His hair was all mussed and dirty in this gritty pin up model way. There were tears in his spider suit, revealing snatches of his chest, and wounds which only made Johnny want to pull him close and apply band-aids everywhere, not necessarily in that order.
Frankly, he'd never looked hotter.
And maybe it was the end of the world thing, or maybe sleep deprivation, but his self control went off on a journey somewhere far away.
"I have been wanting to do this forever," Johnny said. He tugged on the spider suit, and thought man if it didn't need a collar, just so he could make good use of it. And for a moment it was so warm and thrilling and great—
And then Peter pushed him away and gagged.
"What, do I need a Mentos?" Johnny asked with a little too much levity. His smile looked a bit strained, but Johnny always landed on his feet.
"No, it's not that. It's just that smell–"
Johnny looked down to his skintight suit. Now that he thought about it, he sort of smelled like barbequed braaaiiins.
"For the record, I wasn't trying to eat your face," Johnny said. "Or your brains."
Pete smiled a bit at that one.
"It's not that I'm not interested, even though we've never done this, or brought it up–it's just...can we have these confessions and possible tonsil hockey after we've showered?" Peter said.
"You have yourself a deal. I'll even throw some Mentos in," Johnny said.
And then they brofisted, because just because he was making out with Pete didn't mean they weren't still bros.