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“I heard it was one of those fellas from one of Mabel’s costume parties. The guy was a bit squiffy if you ask me.” A gentleman bellowed, champagne sloshing out of his glass and splashing on the lapels of his suit.

“Really, Dickie?” The gentleman next to the first who had spoken said. “I thought it was one of those acrobats from the circus that’s just dossed up in the park.”

“Whoever he was,” said a third, “he prevented a bank robbery and knocked out three guys to boot, all on his lonesome.”

“What are you hens gossiping about?” A blonde girl cried as she pushed her way through the crowd into the group.

“Ahh Birdie will know.” Said the man named Dickie.

“Birdie will know what?” She cooed drunkenly to him, referring to herself in the third person, as she swayed back and forth before wrapping an arm around the redhead beside her and curling into her side for support.

“About that fellow in red and blue pyjamas on Bond Street who stopped that robbery the other night.”

“And why would I know anything about that?” She protested.

“Because I heard it was some of your brother's chums who were trying to rob the bank.”

“Now, Dickie, where did you ever hear a tale like that?” She drunkenly brushed him off. Besides, even if that had been the case, her brother never let her anywhere near his business for her to know.

The small crowd continued to debate the facts of the story about the man in red and blue pyjamas, for the next quarter of an hour, unaware the gentleman in question was currently stood, his back to a wall of books, eavesdropping on the whole conversation. He went mostly unnoticed, apart from catching the attention of a certain blonde in the group that he kept making eyes at.

“Oh I love this song.” The redhead exclaimed to the group as a new tune began. “Oh Dickie, let’s go dance!” She placed her mostly empty glass on a rich wooden side table before grabbing one of Dickie’s hands in both of hers and pulled him towards the band and the makeshift dancefloor before them.

“Come on Birdie!” Another girl exclaimed as she grabbed the hand of the other gentleman in their group and began to lead him away. But Birdie had her eye on something else. Or rather, someone else.

“It’s a swell party.” The gentleman said, tipping a barely touched glass in her direction as she sidled up beside him, slumping against the wall of books as she looked up at him.

“Who are you? Why have I never seen you before? Are you a friend of a friend or something?” Birdie asked him over the music.

“Or something.” He chuckled and mused as he turned his body towards her.

“So have you got a name ‘or something’?” Birdie tipsily asked him with as much audacity as she could muster.

“Peter.. -Parker.” He hastily added, shifting his drink from one hand to the other so he could reach out and offer it to her.

“Well Peter Parker, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She said cheerfully, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. It made his face burst into an ear splitting smile. “I would introduce myself,” she said as she dropped his hand and took a sip of her drink, “but I’m sure you already know who I am, or else you wouldn’t be in my house.”

“No, no, you’re quite right.” He said with a small breathy chuckle.

“So what do you make of all this guy in red and blue pyjamas business. I saw you listening and smirking to yourself. You think it’s a load of old rubbish really, don’t you?” She said her last sentence in a hushed conspiratorial manner. 

“No, no, not at all.” Peter was quick to say. “I uh- I was there actually- when it happened that is.”

He watched as her face lit up. “Oh really!” She said eyes wide as she shimmied even closer to him, her back coming into contact with the bookcase as they huddled secretly against it. “Do tell.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. It’s just as the people say, he swooped in and stopped those guys who were trying to steal from the bank.”

“Some people would say that makes him a bit of a hero, don’t ya think.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Well I don’t think it matters what I think.”

“So you don’t think he’s a hero?” Peter continued to fish.

“Well I think it takes more than just stopping one bank robbery to become a hero.” She said confidently as she stood herself up taller, aiming to impress. “Besides, only fools trust all their money with the bank.”

“Is that so? So where do you keep yours then?”

“Oh I don’t deal with all that- do you have a smoke?” She quickly added but he shook his head, “ah oh well- anyway my brother deals with all the money and things. Georgie darling, have you got a smoke?” She quickly asked a nearby friend who reached into his pocket despite being mid conversation with another person, took out his cigarette case and held it out to her. “You don’t mind do you?” She asked Peter as she put a cigarette to her lips and Georgie turned and lit it for her, before returning to his conversation.

Not given much of a choice, Peter politely responded, “Uh no, sure.” But she was already puffing away. “So you’re brother doesn’t trust banks?” Peter pressed.

“What Freddie? Oh no- he’s in the security business you see. Says they’re awful things actually. They claim to be all safe but anyone could walk off the street and take what they wanted- just look at those men. No, no. You won’t find our money in the bank.”

She was giving him everything he wanted. It was almost too easy. “Where is your brother? Sounds like a smart fellow, I sure would like to meet him.” Peter said looking about the crowd.

“Oh you won’t find him at a ghastly party like this I’m afraid?”

“But I thought this was your party?”

“Yes, it’s a bore isn’t it? Not at all like that party we had at Margot’s last month. You know we really should get a swimming pool. Now that really would be swell. I’ll have to talk to Freddie about it- Do you want to get out of here?”

“But what about your guests?”

“What about them? They’re fine. They know where the door is when they’re ready to leave.” She continued to gabber on cheerily. “I’m sure most of them don’t even know who I am, let alone if I’m here.”

-------------

She took a flashy Bentley from the garage, driving them into the city, Peter having to grab the wheel a couple times as she drunkenly leaned towards the edges of the dark roads. She pulled up outside a club in the middle of the city, giggling loudly as she tossed the keys towards an awaiting doorman.

“Good Evening, Miss Thompson”

“Linus.” She greeted the doorman as he held open the door for them to enter.

They entered into a smaller mock shop entryway whose walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of books and other nicknacks. She hooked her arm into Peter’s and guided him through to a section in the back divided by a deep red velvet curtain. Just to the left of the curtain was a door. Peter took a step back, holding out a hand to indicate she should open the door and enter first.

As the door swung open to reveal a series of steps down, the roar of a jazz band burst out from its confines in the underground establishment. Birdie turned her head back giddily as she lured him down to the depths of the club.

At the bottom of the stairs they found a beaded curtain that she swept aside to reveal the cacophony of lights and sounds that was The Pharaoh's Tomb. There was a long bar along one side of the room, backed with mirrors and filled with more bottles of liquor than Peter had seen in his whole life. There was a stage complete with Jazz Band, Singer and dancing girls in Egyptian inspired costumes, complete with Cleopatra wigs. Small round tables littered the middle of the room save for a small space in front of the stage reserved exclusively for the drunken dancing masses, who writhed together to the music like a nest of snakes.

The last spare wall was home to a few more intimate booths, which Birdie eagerly took his hand and pulled him towards.

“Well if it isn’t the little bird.” A sleazy man’s voice called over the sound of a trumpet solo as they approached the circular booth closest to the stage. “Come here.” he continued, his voice changing and becoming lighter as his face lit up, arm coming out to ensnare her into his side.

“Floyd.” she beamed equally as large as she placed an arm around the man’s back. 

“What are you doing here? Your brother said you were hosting a party tonight.”

“I was.” she said back giddily, “It was a terrible bore.” She watched his face closely as his head turned to the company she had brought. “Oh Floyd,” she exclaimed, “this is Peter. He was a real gem to chaperone me down here.”

“Nice to meet you.” Peter said, holding his hand out for Floyd, but Floyd just looked him up and down with a grunt before turning back to the girl at his side.

“Is my brother here?” Birdie asked with curiosity as her eyes, having not recognised her brother amongst the gentlemen gathered at the table in the booth, scoured the dancefloor.

“He’s out back. He’ll be back in a minute. Had some business to discuss with Jack.” Floyd informed.

“Oh good.” Birdie continued obliviously, “I really wanted to introduce him to Pet- Ahhh Freddie!” she shrieked, reaching a hand for Peter’s and dragging him towards her brother who was just emerging from a side door next to the stage.

“For the love of Christ,” Freddie muttered upon seeing his baby sister bounding towards him, but quickly changed his tone, a composed showmanship falling over him as he saw the poor man she pulled along behind her. “Birdie!” He beamed at her. “And you brought a friend.”

“Freddie, this is Peter.” Birdie introduced.

“Hi, I’m Freddie Thompson, but everyone just calls me Flash.” Freddie said, his hand held out to Peter.

“Parker.” Peter said, providing Freddie ‘Flash’ Thompson with his surname before awkwardly adding, “Peter Parker.” for clarity.

“Well Peter Parker, I apologise for anything my sister has dragged you into, or is yet to drag you into. She seems to always find a way to get what she wants.” Freddie said with a deep chuckle. Peter wasn’t quite sure how to react to that. He was grateful when Freddie indicated for him to go and sit down at the table with him, two of the gentlemen already sitting in the booth getting up and vacating the table. 

Peter noticed that both men looked a little dinged up. One sporting a gash in his right eyebrow, the other clearly nursing a broken nose. “What happened to your friends?” he turned to ask Flash, wondering what tale he would spin. 

“Oh those two?” Flash said boastfully. “I’m in the security business, you see my friend.” His hand reached for a decanter and two glasses that had been brought over to the table and poured himself and Peter a drink, “We do a lot of work providing… security for different businesses. Sometimes that means we get in a few skirmishes. Nothing to worry about. I assure you the other guy looks worse.”

Peter had to stop himself from laughing, the sip of whiskey passing his lips almost spraying onto the table. He wanted to assure Flash that the other guy definitely didn’t look worse, but that would have been giving away his well calculated game.

“So what do you do Pete?” Freddie asked.

“I’m in the journalism business.” Peter watched as Freddie’s eyebrows raised. “Oh no, not a reporter. I just take the pictures.”

“A camera man eh?” Freddie chuckled. “I bet my sister will be very pleased about that.”

Peter and Freddie turned their heads to see Birdie, perched on the end of the booth, tucked close to Peter’s side smiling at them, but it was clear she wasn’t fully listening to the conversation due to the jazz band blasting in her ear on the other side. “Be sure to get her good side now, or else she’ll never forgive you.” Freddie continued to jest.

“Oh don’t worry, I will.” Peter said with a grin.

“Say, how much does a job like that pay?” Freddie asked.

“Oh it’s okay. I’d say just enough.” Peter replied.

“Just enough for what?” Freddie pressed.

“Rent, food, a ride into the city everyday.”

Freddie raised his eyebrows at that. He looked between Peter to his sister, who seemed to be studying Peter’s features closely, clearly smitten. “Oh my friend, that won’t do.” Flash said, slapping Peter on the shoulder. “If you’re gonna be seeing my sister now, you’ll need some money in your pocket. Why don’t you come by here Monday morning and we’ll see what we can do about that. I’m sure I can find a place for you round here somewhere, as long as you don’t mind getting your hands dirty a little bit?” 

“Uhm, thank you. Yes, I’ll be sure to do that.” Peter feigned surprise, yet accepted the offer confidently. Flash was playing right into his hand.

“Freddie darling, are you done talking business? You’re being an awful bore, we came here for a party, not listen to you beat your gums.” Birdie interjected.

Freddie rolled his eyes. He hated his sisters' friends and their fandangled new language. He held his tongue though in present company. “Birdie my dear, I thought you were in fact hosting a party tonight.” He merely replied.

“Oh Freddie Darling I was, but it was a terrible bore and me and Peter weren’t enjoying ourselves nearly as much as we ought to. Everyone was just talking about that frightful business about that man in those red and blue pyjamas.”

“Really? What were they saying?” Freddie pressed, his face turning serious.

“Oh they were all a wire, you know how people chat their lips, but Peter here assures me it really wasn’t the hooptie doo everyone’s raving about. Isn’t that right Peter?”

“Mhmm.” Peter mused quietly.

“Is that so? And how do you know that?”

“Because Peter was there of course, Darling. Taking pictures for the paper weren’t you.” Birdie beamed. “Now really Freddie this is all really a bore. Me and Pete came here to get away from all this chatter. Come Peter, let’s dance. It’s getting late and I need to dance off some of this giggle juice or else I won’t sleep for the room will be spinning.” she said, getting up and reaching for Peter’s, hand pulling him up with her.

Peter reached for his glass, necking the last of the liquid inside then lifting it in thanks in Flash’s direction. He quickly placed it down on the table before he was dragged over to the dancefloor.

Birdie pulled him through the mass of sweaty writhing bodies, still moving to the rhythms of the ongoing jazz. He wasn’t sure if the band had taken a break between songs at all. As he looked over Birdie’s head to the stage, he noticed the dancing girls and the female Jazz singer had now vacated the stage, the all black male band the only ones left standing as they burnt the midnight oil.

They danced for what felt like a solid hour, the two giggling together amongst the mass of bodies, Birdie by far the youngest of the bunch but never intimidated. No, she seemed far more comfortable here, lost within the crowd than she had the rest of the night. Peter was mesmerised as the beads of her dress caught the light, her melodious giggle floating on the sound waves to his ears. She often shared knowing glances and smiles with those around her but she never left his side not once.

They were finally dragged from the crowd about 1 in the morning, when Floyd made his way through the crowd to whisper something in her ear. Peter saw her face turn sour as she looked to her brother and then back to Floyd. She decidedly chose to ignore him, turning her back to him to face the stage, her arms eagerly raising and hands clapping with the music as she tried to prolong the night. Floyd didn’t seem amused though. He instead turned to Peter, handing him the keys to the Bentley. 

“I think it’s time you ought to be taking her home.” he encouraged, his head moving over to look at his boss, Peter’s eyes following through the crowd to where Flash sat at the table watching him intensely.

Peter took the keys from Floyd, giving him a curt nod to show he understood the message, before Floyd began to move back through the crowd and over to the booth. Peter knew there was no arguing with the task he had been given. He no doubt also saw it as a test. And if he wanted to get on the inside of Flash Thompson’s operation and take him down, he needed to pass this test.

“Come on little owl.” He said into her ear as he approached her from behind. She pushed herself back against him, her hips swaying temptingly and he grabbed a hold of her hip, stilling her before he lost control of himself. “Time for us to scram.”

“Oh Petey, don’t tell me you're a bore too.” she pouted.

“I wish I didn’t have to be, but the way your brother is looking at me, if I want to live another day to see that beautiful angel face of yours again, I fear I must.”

She turned to gaze into his soft brown eyes. They were kind and serious, but also held a devilish childlike nature to them she wanted to explore. “Fine.” she chirped, her fingers reaching for the keys in his hand, but he snatched them from her reach. 

“Ah, I don’t think so Missy.”

She folded her arms indignantly.

“I’m driving. Now be a good girl and go get in the car.”

“Fine.” she said with a dramatic eye roll, but began to make her way towards the curtain at the back of the hall and the stairs.

Peter turned his gaze looking over the crowd to Flash. Flash gave him a small nod of approval before turning back to his conversation.

Peter was nervous as he climbed into the driver's seat of the car. He’d never really driven before. He’d taken a few lessons with his Uncle Ben during the war before he too was drafted and like so many, gunned down in the prime of his life, but had yet to fully get behind the wheel of a car since. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He took one look towards Birdie in the passenger seat, her eyes gazing longingly out the window at the late night city lights. 

Even though it had gone one o’clock in the morning, a late summer humidity hung in the air, mixing with a faint sound of jazz, which seemed to cling to everything in the city these days as much as the smog and smoke from the nearby factories and the still developing young city. Peter worried at his lip as they sat in silence, Birdie seemingly giving him the silent treatment, unsatisfied with the abrupt end to her evening of joy.

As he began to take streets heading away from the city, towards the direction they initially came she stopped him. “Oh no, don’t go back to the house.” She said.

“But I’m supposed to be taking you home.”

“Yes.” She gave a small tight lipped smile, still agitated at having her night cut short. “But don’t go there. No doubt Dickie and Georgie and the others will still be there and I have no intention of going back to that party.”

“Where am I supposed to take you then?” Peter asked, looking over at her.

“We have a small apartment on Clinton Place.” 

“But that’s in the other direction. Why didn’t you tell me-“

She shot him a look that had him falling silent. Her eyebrows raised in a way that said you know exactly why. When he didn’t continue she said, just to confirm her reason if he hadn’t fully cottoned on to it, “Because I like spending time with you Peter Parker and I didn’t want this night to be over.”

She watched Peter closely, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard in an attempt to keep his cool. His eyes were fixed firmly to the road, not daring to look at her. She couldn’t help but beam at knowing she already had him hooked around her little finger.

She had to fight to suppress the little giggle that wanted to escape her lips as a naughty little idea popped into her head. She continued to watch him closely as her fingers began to tiptoe across the leather seat towards him. He jumped slightly, a shudder moving through him as she made contact with his thigh. 

He took one look down at her hand before fixing his eyes to the road again, still unable to look directly at her.

He stiffened as her hand kept moving over his trouser leg, her fingers moving to stroke up the inside of his thigh. He couldn’t help the sensation that crept into his body in reaction to her touch. His hips shifted slightly as he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Just focus on the road.” She cooed to him as she shuffled herself across the seat closer to him. 

She began to nuzzle herself into the crook of his neck as her hand began to palm the growing bulge in his pants.

“Birdie. Birdie…I-“ he tried to protest, but he struggled to find the words.

“Just relax.” She said sweetly into his ear.

He swallowed hard again, his fingers shifting over the steering wheel, gripping onto it for dear life as her fingers began to work open the fastenings to his trousers.

Peter grew tense as she freed his cock from his confines, her manicured fingers wrapping around his length, tugging on him gently as she continued to kiss, lick and suckle at the crook of his neck. His whole body temperature was rising under her attention and he wondered if her brother knew about this side of her behaviour.

“Mhmm,” he cleared his throat, “Birdie… birdie-“

“I love it when you say my name like that.” Her teasing voice whispered into his ear. His hips involuntarily jerked in her hand and the car swerved slightly. She giggled.

He realised she got off on it. The recklessness. The rebellion. She saw what her brother was like. Knew the image he wanted her to have. But it was clear she had no intention of being a pawn in his little game. This intrigued Peter. Where first he had only seen her as a way to get to her brother, maybe there was more to her than meets the eye. Maybe he didn’t have to play her at all. Maybe she’d willingly turn on Flash. 

The car in front of theirs turned off onto a different street, leaving a long open stretch of road before Peter. He kept his hands steady on the wheel as he turned his head away from the road to meet her gaze. He looked from her eyes to where she nibbled at her lower lip and back to her eyes. He could smell her arousal between her legs, sensed the small shuffle of her thighs as she fought with her own want. 

His foot grew heavy on the gas, the car revving slightly and she began to beam. He still did not look back out the front window. But she did. “Peter.” She giggled. His foot pushed down on the gas peddle more. “PETER.” She giggled louder. But still he didn’t look away. She bit at her lips with nervous giddy as she fought to commit to this, her hand frozen on his cock, eyes trying to stay fixed to his- but he still wouldn’t look to the road. 

She knew from the glances she’d taken that they were getting closer and closer to the building at the end of the street. Knew they’d have to turn soon. Knew he’d have to look. She wondered for a second what would happen if she didn’t say anything. Could he sense it out the corner of his eye. Did he know before he put his foot on the gas? It would likely be seconds now until they hit the brick facade. She wondered if it would be so bad if they did hit it. If they just went out with a bang like this. Together. New acquaintances, drunk on life, jazz and lust. She imagined it. She’d finally be free of her brother if nothing else. But she wanted to live. She wanted to get to know him better.

She broke his gaze to look at the nearing building. “Peter,” she said his name as a warning once more.

“Kiss me.” She looked at him shocked. “Kiss me and I’ll look.”

“Peter!” She warned again already beginning to brace herself for the impending accident, her hand gripping his cock tighter. She had forgotten it was still in her hand. No, she adamantly decided, although she’d be free of her brother if she died right now, there’s now way she’d let her body be found with that of a man she had only just met, his cock still hanging out of his trousers. So she kissed him, smashing her lips into his and smearing her lipstick across his mouth. He grinned against her lips. 

His eyes finally turned to face forward. There was a sharp turn of his hands on the wheel and a screech of tires as he broke, the car narrowly making the turn. There was a blast of a horn as they swerved into the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road, before they moved back into the correct lane and they both let out a breathy giggle of relief at still being alive.

Birdie finally removed her hand from his cock and Peter stole a glance back towards her to find her shuffling back slightly on the bench seat. He kept checking between her and the road as he tried to work out what she was going to do, her eyes briefly meeting his with a devilish smirk as she slowly lowered her head towards his crotch. Peter groaned as her tongue caressed his length, her finger wrapping around the base of his cock and pulling at the length her mouth couldn’t reach. Peter had never had his cock sucked before and from the feeling low in his belly, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

He placed a hand to the back of her head, urging her to slow down so he could at least make it to Clinton Place before he came hard in her mouth, but it only seemed to make the sensation worse.

He tried to keep his eyes on the road as her head bobbed up and down in his lap. He leant his elbow against the door, his finger biting at his knuckles as he fought with all his resolve to hold out. 

When he saw the sign for Clinton Place he wanted to kiss God himself as he sent up a silent praise. He just had enough foresight to carefully pull into a space at the side of the street before his hips stuttered. He grunted once, twice, before he spilled his seed into her pretty mouth.

She took her mouth off his cock and pumped it twice more with her hand as Peter watched her swallow his load. “Fuuuuck,” he said with a low hiss.

She smiled. “Well, thanks for the ride, Peter Parker.” She said seductively, behind heavy lashes.

“Uhh- you’re welcome.” He stuttered. She blushed, her smile growing wider.

“You can take the car to drive yourself home.” She said as she wiped at her mouth and climbed out of the car. She stood with one hand on the door as she lowered her head back into the cab to talk to him. “You can bring it back to the house tomorrow. We’re having brunch at 11.” She said with another one of those sly and foxy smiles, before slamming the door closed and walking away.

You however, were not born of the circus. An orphan, left abandoned as a babe in a basket around the back of one of the tents, swaddled in bright fabrics from the clowns act, to be found by the costume designer and raised as her own. She had been a middle aged woman who had not found love but always longed for a child.

You loved to pop into the towns and cities with her, scouting through fabric shop after fabric shop for pretty, colourful fabrics for the performers costumes.

You loved to watch from the curtains every night as they donned your Mother’s creations and put on a show for the crowds to oooh and ahhh.

You can still remember the first time they let him perform. There were small gasps from the audience as they saw him emerge from the curtains to stand in the middle of the ring. He was only a year or so older than you. You watched carefully, stomach in your mouth, as he swung from one trapeze to the next, without a net, until he was on a tiny platform, way up high in the big top. You could only stare, as he fastened his wrist to a looped bit of fabric before he took a small hop and leap off of the platform. It was like he was flying as he swung around the room, twisting and turning his body until he was slowly lowered back to the ground. The crowd erupted in a way you had never heard before and you knew it had changed you.

From that day on, you would sneak off to watch his rehearsals as he practiced under his Mothers experience gaze. Neither of them seemed to realise you were there at first, watching from the edge of the tent. But as the days went on and the weather changed you found yourself growing bolder and bolder as you stepped further and further into the tent.

It didn’t take long until they noticed you then. His Mother growing frustrated as he became distracted by you. She watched you closely too. Kept an eye on how your eyes watched him swing back and forth in the big top.

“Would you like to have a go?” His Mother came over and asked you. You weren’t quite sure. Making an excuse to leave, telling her you’d have to check with your Mother.

You avoided that tent for a few days after that. But things quickly changed when his Mother came and found you instead. She knocked on your Mother’s trailer door late one night when you should have been sleeping. Your ear listing at the curtain that divided the small bedroom you had, only big enough for a single bed, and the main living area of the trailer. It didn’t take much convincing for Peter’s Mother to talk your Mother around into letting you have a go. After all, your Mother wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the drawings you’d been doing lately, knew exactly where you had been going.

The following afternoon, your Mother asked you to walk with her into town for some new fabric. She instead walked you to that big top where Peter was already doing stretches.

From then on, his Mother taught you both all that she could do. She began choreographing routines for you. He to be dressed as Peter Pan, you to be dressed as Wendy. When the two of you performed, you had the audience eating out of the palm of your hands.

That all changed though one stormy night as the whole troop packed up the tents and began to make their way to the next town. However, Peter and his family never arrived. The storm had made leaf covered autumn roads slippy and they crashed their car into a tree. His parents died on impact and Peter, the lone survivor of the crash, protected by the head on collision in the backseat, was sent by the police to live with his next of kin; an Aunt and Uncle who belonged to a different touring circus, the other side of the country.

16 YEARS LATER…

Both of you had continued to perform, cherishing the memories of your youth and the start you had in the business. Childhood friends torn apart, forever wishing the best for the other, despite knowing they’d never likely see each other again.

You barely thought about him these days as you decided to head to a circus convention in Las Vegas where you met a fire eater named Harry. He had been instantly mesmerised by you as you performed in a beautiful bedazzled costume made of scraps of red, orange and gold. He thought you looked like literal fire as you twisted around the set up performance space and he knew he had to have you.

The two of you talked for hours that week. He was passionate and handsome and although you wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, you’d definitely say it was lust.

When the week came to an end he managed to convince you to go back to his troop with him. They had space for a female acrobatics performer, their last one having to step down due to being pregnant. It was one of the reasons Harry had been sent to the convention in the first place. To find a replacement.

You figured you could do with a change of crowd, a different kind of scenery and so you packed up your camper van and the two of you drove back east to meet up with his troop.

You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He was older, taller, his body leaner. His hair that had been a mousey brown as a kid had grown darker, but as you entered that tent that first day to introduce yourself and practice, you quickly realised who he was.

Peter hadn’t needed a moment to recognise you. He’d realised who you were the second you’d driven into camp and gotten out of your van. He hadn’t dared approach you though, especially when he saw how you draped yourself over Harry- and why wouldn’t you. Tall, dark and handsome in his leather jacket. Daring and enticing with his skills. Peter had seen Harry’s act multiple times, seen the way he played with fire like it was nothing. It was like honey to the bees. All of the girls screaming and crying over him like he was the member of some boyband.

“Hey, I’m-“ you froze, one hand still held out as he walked towards you.

“Hello Y/N.” He smiled back at you.

“Peter?!” You practically squealed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His breath chuffed against your neck in delight as he folded his arms around you, accepting the hug.

It was like no time at all had passed between you. Even as you both recounted your own separate stories to one another about the events of the last 16 years. Both of you now in your early 20s and still doing the thing you loved most- swinging around the big top.

You had an intense week in the tent, creating a new routine that would shock audiences. Becoming reacquainted with each others bodies in a far different way than the way you were still acquainting your body with Harry’s at the end of a long day.

You created the story of a superhero and his damsel in distress. One of the clowns stepping in to play a comedic over the top villain for Peter to rescue you from.

It was an instant hit. The two of you garnering much attention across the different states you visited. Your childhood bond growing stronger every day that you worked together.

But as time went on, feelings grew. Peter had always been besotted with you, even when you were kids. And now you were fully grown, those feelings only became worse. But you were Harry’s girl. No matter how awfully Harry treated you.

At first, Harry was amazed by the act you and Peter performed. Found the positions you twisted your body into mesmerising and sexy. But as the weeks grew. As the applause for the act grew louder. Harry grew jealous.

There was a reason Harry played with fire. He was a hot head, with a wicked temper to boot. Everyone could hear your arguing across the camp at night. But you seemed to hold your own, kicking him out of the trailer when he was too drunk, growing too violent, encouraging him to take a walk and calm down. Harry would take a walk alright. Straight into town in search of more drink and a pretty girl to fuck his frustration out with.

It didn’t take you long to find out he’d been cheating. The argument that had ensued was nasty. All anyone could do was stop and watch on as you threw out his clothes into the mud, telling him things were over and that he should find somewhere else to sleep. In his rage he accused you with having been sleeping with Peter this whole time anyway. Peter listening to that had decided it had been enough.

Peter had raced to step between the two of you. He punched Harry in the face before taking the last of Harry’s stuff you held in your arms and chucking it at him. “Go find somewhere else to work.” Peter had spat at him, “You’re not wanted here anymore.”

Harry had packed up his things into his old beat up car and driven off that afternoon.

The whole ordeal had you feeling like you were stuck in a spin, rapidly spiralling out of control. But he was there. Peter was there. He watched as you threw yourself further into your work to get over it. Held your hand through it all, until one day the tears stopped and you could see clearly again. See him stood there in front of you, heart laid bare.

“I’ve always loved you.” He said when you showed up for dinner at his cabin post show ready for a debrief. You had been met with candles and music. At first you wanted to run, but then you saw him, stood there, that hand still outstretched to you. As it always had been, even as children. That promise that he’d hold on tight. That he’d never drop you. That he’d always be there. So you took it and you never let go.

You grew old. Performed many more shows. Had a family and created performances all four of you could perform. From children to adults, your love story laid out in the big top for all the world to see. Forevermore.