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- - -
It was better to walk home, Peter decided.
No way was he getting stuck on the bus with Flash. Especially not after their little stand-off in the cafeteria. Even after the last bell, Peter was still stewing about it. Clenching and unclenching his fists as he drifted down the sidewalk - the tension that snapped through his body had never quite faded since.
It was so stupid. Flash had never gotten him so riled up before, not even on his worst days. Tripping him on the morning bus, singling him out during dodgeball, even splashing him with gutter-water balloons - all of Flash's bullshit, Peter had taken it all in stride. So why did it grate on him so much now?
Because now I can actually do something about it…
Peter's jaw went tight as he clenched his teeth. He was passing by shops now, familiar delis and laundromats, and the sidewalk was becoming more and more crowded. It didn't slow him down one bit, though. Somehow Peter glided on through without a hitch, slipping around and between the other folks with shocking ease. Like he just knew exactly where and when to move, exactly where everyone else was and was going to be.
Total awareness. Which was totally fucking sick. In school, it had been more of a curse - he couldn't ignore the girls for the life of him. Out in the open, it was an entirely different story. Nothing could touch him.
It was a sort of surety that Peter had never felt, not once. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful. Like he could climb a mountain - ten mountains! Peter Parker felt like a whole new man.
Everything was different… yet nothing had changed.
All this new strength, all this new energy… and Peter was still getting shit.
Stupid.
"Hey! Stop!" A shout rose up from behind. "Stop that guy!"
Tension struck through Peter's body, stronger than before. Prickles all over his skin, from head to toe. A buzz at the back of his head, sharp and growing sharper. All of his senses on, kicked way, way up. Peter got it all. Everything around him. Everything and everyone.
Running. Someone was running. Closing in fast. Closing in from behind. The buzz at the back of his head was blitzing now, every nerve awake and screaming. Much worse than it felt with Flash.
Danger.
Gun. Peter didn't know how. He just knew.
DangerDangerDangerDangerDanger.
A man cursed as he was shoved aside. A woman screamed. Danger was here. Right behind Peter.
Peter stepped aside. Danger passed him by… but Peter reached out. Danger choked out a cry as he was jerked backwards, yanked clear off his feet. He landed flat - and hard - on his back. It looked like it hurt. Peter balked. He'd only touched the guy's shoulder.
The folks who had been shouting let out a collective gasp. One guy let out a low whistle.
The buzz was gone. Danger was a wiry dude, dressed in baggy jeans and a grimy wifebeater. Tattoos up the arms, maybe some scribbled on his face too. Peter couldn't tell for sure. The guy was wearing a black ski-mask.
"What… the fuck…?" Beneath the ski mask, Peter could see the guy wincing in pain.
"Oh, damn!" Peter finally let out the breath he'd been holding. "Sorry, I just meant to-"
There was a plastic bag tangled around his wrist. Spilling out were crumpled up wads of dollar bills. Then Peter spotted the gun. A black glock, lying there.
A robber, Peter realized.
The buzz flared up again. Without thinking, Peter kicked the gun away, watching it skid over into the nearby alley.
"Dude!" Peter glared down. All Danger could do was writhe and groan on the pavement.
"Holy hell, kid! You laid him out!"
Peter nearly jumped when a large hand clapped down on his shoulder. He turned and saw that it belonged to a large, heavyset man. Judging from his apron, a deli clerk. His plump, bearded face was flushed pink, beads of sweat glittering across his forehead, and he was taking in deep, heavy breaths.
"Hope that hurt, jackass! Trying to steal from me?" The clerk muttered curses, nudging the thug's leg with his boot.
Peter looked from the clerk to the would-be thief then to the people who were starting to gather. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, hoping that his brain would come up with something to say. Without thinking, he plucked the bag of cash from the ground. Now people were starting to clap. Last time anybody clapped for him was May and Ben when he got a ribbon at the science fair.
"It was nothing." Peter tried to play it cool, bristling with all those eyes on him. "I just… reacted."
The clerk shook his head, not having it.
"My business ain't nothing. You really saved my ass today, kid."
"Yeah, well… happy to help." Peter felt a warmth spreading across his cheeks. Some folks were whistling, a couple even had their phones out, taking pics. It really wasn't that big a deal.
Smiling awkwardly, Peter handed the bag over. Another round of cheers.
The clerk happily took the bag… or tried to. The thing wouldn't move. The guy's smile dropped. Confusion took its place. He pulled again. Nothing. He gave Peter a look, a silent question that Peter really had no answer for. He wasn't even gripping the bag. His fingers were spread, palm wide open. The bag was just… clinging.
The clerk pulled again to no avail. The cheers had died down. Now it was getting awkward. Way awkward.
"Can I have my money back?" The guy asked quietly.
"I'm trying to give it, just…"
"What's the problem?"
Peter's eyes darted around. Everyone was looking at him. His cheeks started to burn hot.
"It's stuck. It's stuck to my hand. I'm not holding it, see?" Peter explained, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.
The clerk's face curled into a deep frown. He pulled harder on the bag. To Peter's great relief, it started to peel away from his palm. Slowly.
"Freak must have used glue… or something…" The clerk shot the masked thug another glare. "Moron."
The bag ripped. The guy cursed as some of the crumpled bills started to spill out, but he managed to catch them. A few rogue bills almost flew away, but Peter snatched them out of the air. Frustrated, the clerk relented to cradling the money against his heavy gut.
"Like I said, glue." He nodded towards Peter's hand. Some of the plastic sheet was still stuck to his palm. "Criminals getting desperate and stupid."
Peter peeled the flap of plastic the rest of the way off. It sure as hell didn't feel like glue.
"Cops'll be here soon to take care of el bandito here." The clerk said. "If you want, I could whip you up a sub. Any way you want it, on the house."
The mention of food brought on a rumbling deep in his belly. Thanks to Flash, he never really got to enjoy lunch…
"Sounds great." Peter agreed. Next he was following the clerk back to the deli.
As they walked, he tossed the ribbons of the plastic bag into a trash can. The clerk gave him a look.
"Probably should wash your hands first, though."
- - -
The sub hit the spot. Turkey and meatball with provolone on buttered and toasted sourdough. Gustavo's Subs. Peter had to remember that place.
In the moment though, as he shuffled on through a more quiet neighborhood, his focus was on a much more pressing issue - the fact that he maybe, possibly, kind of had superpowers. God, wouldn't that be absolutely wild?
Waking up with abs and muscles and extra inches of dick was strange enough. Having his senses jacked up way past eleven but this in a whole different ballpark. And now he knew it wasn't just a lucky one-off. It happened with Flash and now it happened again with that robber - Peter could literally feel danger. A real, actual sixth sense. Only this was so much more useful than talking to ghosts.
Inside Peter was a struggle between two minds. The teenage boy who was absolutely over the moon versus the sharp, analytical brain that got him into advanced classes in the first place. Superpowers were cool. Way cool. But Peter couldn't ignore the sobering reality that his body had changed. Gone was the scrawny, gangly, science geek. Now he was a shredded science geek. As wicked as that was, it was a clear genetic overhaul.
Slapping Flash's hand away actually hurt him. Peter hadn't even gone full force with it. And the masked thug… all Peter did was touch the guy's shoulder and it knocked him flat on his ass. Peter wasn't just stronger. He was way stronger. As in, way stronger than even his new and improved physique could logically be.
Super strength, super senses, and now… sticky palms?
Peter found himself idly rubbing the spot on the back of his hand. The spot where…
"Spider bite." He mumbled, eyes growing big as realization dawned. "It had to be. Only thing that makes sense."
Peter slowed to a stop, feeling a new lightness in his chest. He couldn't quite tell what the feeling really was. Excitement? Fear? Both? This was whole new territory. For anybody. At least Captain America knew what he was getting into with that super soldier serum.
If the spider mutated his body… was he going to grow extra limbs? Extra eyes? Was his body going to start producing its own web silk? If so, then from where?
Peter shook his head. Shook his whole body. It was necessary, just to settle his nerves. He found himself leaning against a chain-link fence, breathing in slowly, steadily. That's when he realized he'd stopped by a junkyard.
It was a small lot, maybe two houses worth of space. Overgrown with weeds - wherever the ground wasn't covered, at least. Lots of scrap stacked high. A couple of scrapped cars, old trash cans, busted TVs, microwaves. A couple small mountains of garbage. Smelled like oil and rust.
It was a quiet place. Nobody was around. Not even a guard dog. That gave Peter an idea.
Really, it was his boyish excitement that got the better of him. He probably, almost definitely had superpowers. What was the harm in doing some tests?
He found a gap in the fence and slipped on through. Good thing I already had my tetanus shots.
Peter scanned the yard, looking for something big and heavy. He found himself pretty spoiled for choice.
"Alright. Let's start with… you."
He singled out a washing machine. The lid was missing along with half of the dials and buttons. What was once a white finish was now worn and grimy and rusted. Totally trashed… but Peter was going to get at least one more use out of it.
He stepped up to the junked washer, deciding that it was big and heavy enough that it would leave no doubt. He reached out, grabbed it by the open rim… and lifted. And lifted. And lifted.
Peter couldn't believe what he was seeing. Hell, he couldn't believe what he was feeling. No strain in his arm, no burning ache in the muscles. He was holding the washing machine straight over his head. One handed.
"There's no fucking way…" Peter breathed, sputtering into astonished laughter.
Washing machines usually weighed in at a couple hundred pounds. And here he was, holding it up like it was made out of fucking tinfoil.
Super strength. I have super strength for sure. Holy shit.
Through the giddiness, Peter decided it was time for another test. He lowered the washing machine, holding it out by his side with both arms. He planted one palm flat against the side then let go with his other hand.
There was no fall. There was no crash. The hunk of junk stayed right where it was, a foot off the ground. Stuck to his hand!
Peter let out a hoot, pumping his free arm into the air over and over. Somehow - maybe he willed it - the washing machine unstuck from his palm, crashing back to the ground. Peter's excitement met a hitch there. He looked around, suddenly remembering he was out in the open.
No onlookers. That was good. Even hyped up, Peter had enough sense to know it wasn't the best idea to advertise.
"Holy shit. Holy shiiiit." Peter wrung his hands, pacing in circles. He wanted to run, wanted to jump, wanted to shout.
He was rubbing his fingers together now, his mind racing with all the possibilities. Glue? This was so far beyond glue.
At the other end of the junkyard was a solid brick wall. The building rose three stories up. Smooth surface, no grips. Peter eyed it, wondering, daring.
Yesterday, Peter Parker couldn't even climb the rope in phys ed. But today?
Today, he felt like he could climb mountains.
- - -
Halfway on his sprint home, Peter found himself grappling with the side effects of his youthful excitement. Though after everything he'd dealt with during the school day, he really should have expected it.
By the time he reached his front door, Peter was much more cool-headed… mostly because a lot of his blood had rushed down south.
While his solid steel hard-on tried to rip a hole through his jeans, Peter let his hand rest on the doorknob. He wasn't going to tell May or Ben about this. The super powers or the boner. They'd freak out, no question. Rush him down the hospital, call in "experts" and the like, maybe even get OsCorp involved.
Peter winced just thinking about it, the possibility of his aunt and uncle dragging Harry's dad to court. Overnight, Peter Parker would be the talk of the tabloids, the poor teenage freakshow who got mutated with bug DNA. Total nightmare scenario. Peter did not need those sorts of complications. Right now, he had enough to worry about.
His cock twitched, the head sliding against the fabric of his jeans. Peter nearly took the handle off the door then, feeling the quake roll through his guts.
"God…" He groaned, gritting his teeth.
May and Ben could not see him like this. He shucked off his backpack and held it in front of him. Far from elegant but it would have to do. Then he pushed inside.
Home was the sound of afternoon news on the TV and the smell of meat and potatoes drifting over from the kitchen. Too bad Peter couldn't enjoy it.
"...reports that the Roxxon building did in fact suffer a break-in attempt, though spokesperson Patti Nestor declined to confirm what, if anything, was stolen. This marks yet another incident in a string of high-profile burglaries across the New York metropolitan area, coming less than a month after the break-in at Fisk Tow-"
Uncle Ben hit the mute, catching Peter out of the corner of his eye.
Just my luck…
"Hey, Mr. Big Brain! Glad you could join us. Take another run today?"
"Yeah, didn't want to take the bus." Peter admitted. He kept his backpack in place, shuffling on awkwardly through the living room. Thankfully, Ben didn't press and turned his attention back to the TV. A small lifeline. Peter just needed to make it to the stairs…
Except Aunt May chose that moment to come out of the kitchen. She made a beeline for Peter.
"Skipped the bus again?" She asked, her face colored with concern. "Is Eugene giving you a hard time? I could have a talk with his paren-"
"Flash isn't bugging me. I just wanted to walk home. Get some fresh air. That's all."
May pursed her lips, reading his face. She held up her hands.
"If you say so." She relented.
"If the man says he's alright, he's alright." Ben called from the couch.
"Hush. That's the Parker pride talking. Besides, it's my job to worry." May gently patted Peter's arm. "Dinner is roast beef and potatoes. Should be done in twenty."
"She's treating us tonight, Pete." Ben hooted.
"She always does." Peter managed a smile for Aunt May, angling past her for the stairs. He patted his backpack. "I gotta head up first. Got this big load of homework tonight…"
A white lie. Homework would be a breeze. The real "big load" was pitching a tent in his pants.
Thankfully, Ben waved him off.
"Go take care of business. I'll try and leave some of that roast beef for you."
By the time May went in on chiding her husband, Peter was already up the stairs. He hurried down the hall, relief washing over him as he reached his door. But it wasn't the sort of relief he was craving.
- - -
Peter closed the door behind him, twisting the lock shut. He threw his bag over to his bed, kicked off his sneakers, then his socks. His hands went for his fly. He dropped his pants, boxers too. Then came freedom.
Peter let out a deep sigh as his big, hard problem came flopping into the open air. The thick, veiny stalk of meat swayed between his legs, twitching, aching, weeping.
"Was the spider-venom laced with viagra?" He muttered. "Fuck."
Peter took himself in hand, only managing a couple firm strokes before letting go. It was too much, the blitz of pleasure through his nerves. He watched his cock stir from the touch, feeling more precum bubble up and dribble from the tip.
God, how big was he now? He was definitely working with more cock than before and he'd never been small to begin with. Overnight, his eight inches had grown into… ten? Eleven? Almost a foot of reddened, swollen dick stretched out over his bloated balls. Twitching. Begging for attention.
Time to finally deal with you…
Peter stripped off his shirt, slumping naked into his computer chair. One hand on the mouse, opening up the internet browser before moving to the keyboard. His other hand went back to his cock. With how hard he was he really didn't need any help, but Peter pulled up some pics anyway.
First it was instagram babes, bikini models, Victoria's Secret girls. Pretty tasteful stuff actually, considering the norm of what teenage boys wanked to. Peter considered himself more refined like that.
Pleasure boiled in his gut as he drew his fist over the whole length of him. One pump, two, three, then four and more. Rock hard under his fingers, every thickened inch of him. His strokes came faster as he drew his eyes over the gallery of half-naked women. Stunners, each and every one. Frozen beauties with bee-stung lips and bedroom eyes, lissome bodies clad in barely-there lace.
Yet Peter craved variety still. His free hand returned to the keyboard. New girls took to the screen. Famous faces now.
Ali Blaire, dolled up in her iconic, sparkling white suit. The one with that plunging neckline. And her bright, golden hair done up like wow. Another picture had her in a different outfit. Sleeveless blue top, stylishly frayed above that mouthwatering midriff. Holy hell, was the woman fit. Peter wanted to drag his tongue over that tummy.
He was huffing now, sweat building along his brow. His manhood was thrumming against his closed fingers, like it was trying to jerk free. His strokes were even faster now, spilling more precum over his knuckles.
Dazzler wasn't the only pop star on his mind. A couple of clicks had the charming Luna Snow gracing his computer screen.
Cute dyed hair, cute face, and those big, pretty eyes. One brown, one blue, both utterly enchanting. And God those shorts. Peter loved those shorts - thought not nearly as much as he loved the legs that wore them. But this was only a picture. Peter pulled up her social media, found a clip of Luna practicing a dance routine. Simple clothes. Sports bra and sweats. But Luna could make a potato sack look sexy. Fuck, the way her tummy was glistening with sweat…
Peter closed his eyes, groaning as he worked his hand even faster. Faster, faster, faster. He gripped the edge of his desk, so strong was the surge through his nerves and veins. His cock was an iron rod, red hot. The ache in his balls was heavenly.
Racy pics and short clips weren't enough. His imagination took the reins. And his young, horny, male brain ran wild. Lurching up from his chair, Peter waded through that mindscape of familiar, pretty faces.
Gwen Stacy in her cheerleader skirt. Only the skirt. Liz Allan in even less than that. Fair and dark skin, so much of it on display. Sweet smiles and sinful eyes welcomed Peter Parker back to his favorite fantasy.
He could feel their ghostly touches as he lumbered on with his eyes still closed. He found the bedroom wall, planting his free hand for support while he cranked the other hard and fast. He jerked his hips, fucking his own hand. His balls were swinging now, slapping against his legs.
Each stroke was bliss. A little bit more every time. Building and building and building. He was almost there.
Gwen and Liz were happy to carry him over the line. Peter swore he could feel their fingers drifting over his back and shoulders. He could feel them squeezing at his arms, at his abs, at his hips. Spectral hands sliding dangerously close to the root of his cock. Their lips were at his neck, at his ears, whispering… whispering… no words. He couldn't imagine any. Just sweetness pouring from those soft, glossy lips. Praise. Love. Phantom breasts pressing into his back was what finally did him in.
Peter's eyes shot open. By then his hand had become a blur over his cock. When he came, he came like a burst pipe.
Eruption. Peter threw his head back, shivering, groaning loud. Through his loins rocked a delicious squeeze. Another followed. Then another. Then more. That splendid torture went on for longer than he'd ever felt in his young life. The ecstasy felt endless, stretching on and on to where it felt like all of him was pouring out through his cock.
When the perfection finally started to fade, he rolled his head forward again. He had to wait for the stars to fade before looking upon his handiwork.
It was… messy.
"Oh, wow." Peter huffed out. He swept some damp hair from his face, wiping away sweat as he did.
Peter had left his mark on the carpet. On the wall, too. Gooey, glistening white. Streaks and streaks of it.
The salty, musky smell was already rising in the air. May had a bottle of stain/odor remover. She kept that downstairs though. Peter would have to sneak it up later. First, he needed to deal with his mess.
There were leftovers smeared on his hand and thighs. He could take care of that with a quick shower.
The stuff on the floor and wall? That required a towel. A big one.
As he started to rummage through his closet, Peter wearily noted that the stirring between his legs had barely faded. The conjured Gwen and Liz had also stuck around. They were giggling, whispering, conspiring. Enough to get him hard again.
Peter sighed. Just his kind of luck.