#ace peter

“Sorry,” Peter says quickly, clumsily spinning his pencil between his fingers. He’s supposed to be doing his homework, but his focus is elsewhere. “I just...have a lot on my mind.”

“Spider-Man stuff?” Ned asks, eyes sparkling with excitement even now, so many months after the accidental reveal. 

He could say yes. He could just say yes and make up some story about a robbery or a mugging or, better yet, an Avengers mission - because he goes on those now - and that would be that. The conversation would be over, and Peter could go back to pretending to do his homework and stressing. 

“No,” he says, because he has to. Because if he doesn’t do this now, it’ll be another four weeks before he finds the courage to even think about telling Ned again. He can’t handle another four weeks of being this scared.

He’s gotten used to being scared over the years, but this is a different type of fear. It’s different than his secret identity fear. It’s different than his patrolling fear. It’s different, even, than all the other variations of his coming out fear, of which he’s discovered many.

(It’s most similar, he thinks, to his fear of not being good enough. That one’s been here for as long as he can remember and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to get rid if it.)

Ned didn’t look at him any different the first time, but Peter knows that he will this time. 

He could just not tell him. He could just pretend for the rest of his life, and let Ned continue to believe his boyfriend is perfectly normal. 

Tony says he is perfectly normal. Says Peter’s not allowed to think he’s not. 

Peter’s usually pretty good at following rules, but he’s still working on that one. He knows - rationally, logically, he knows - but sometimes the word damaged still rings in his ears and he forgets.

“Peter?” 

Ned is looking at him weird. He’s been quiet too long, missed whatever his boyfriend was saying. 

He puts his pencil down. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Ned asks, and his concern is practically etched into his forehead.

Great. His stress is stressing Ned out. 

Really, Peter should have expected him to know something was off. The two of them have always been so in tune with each other, since long before they kissed in Ned’s bedroom over a half-built set of Legos, that they have practically a sixth sense. 

Ned knows him too well. No matter how good of a show he puts on, he always sees through it. Every time, without fail. 

(Although, truth be told, he’s not a very good liar anyway.)

“I, uh -” Peter rubs circles into the inside of his left wrist with his thumb. His head hurts, the gentle pulse of anxiety thrumming behind his eyes. And he has to do this now, he has to rip the bandaid off, or else the pulse will never fade. “Ned, I -” “Are you breaking up with me?” Ned interrupts, and he’s joking, sort of, mostly, but there’s a glint of real worry under the teasing.

Okay, what? “What?” Backwards. That’s so backwards. Ned’s worried about Peter breaking up with him, while Peter’s been expecting the reverse for weeks. “No - no, of course not!”

He’s too far away. They’re too far away from each other to have this conversation, with Peter at his desk and Ned sitting cross-legged on the bed, and he’s itching to hold his boyfriend’s hand. He slides off his chair and moves to join Ned on the bed, scooting forward so tat their knees touch.

Peter reaches out to take Ned’s hands in his - Ned doesn’t protest, but his nerves do show in the way his shoulders shift - and sits up just the tiniest bit straighter.

“Okay. Okay, we’re - we’re doing this,” Peter says, mostly to himself. Ned’s fingers tighten around his, and he’s fairly sure it’s involuntary. “Ned. My angel. There’s...something I need to tell you.”

Ned’s eyes still have that oh god, he’s breaking up with me look. It’s an awful look.

This is...not exactly how he thought this was going to go. 

Firmly, earnestly, he says, “I am not breaking up with you. I’d never, okay? But - but you might want to break up with me after this.”

“I - why would -”

Peter kisses him, gently. Lingeringly. When he pulls back, Ned is quiet, his eyes still half-closed and the worry lines in his forehead blissfully smooth.

He wonders if he made it worse for himself by putting it off. Wonders if it would’ve been easier had he just bit the bullet and told him four weeks ago, as soon as he’d realized. Wonders if Ned should’ve been the first person he told, whether he was ready or not.

Wonders if, maybe, he owed it to Ned to tell him first and fucked that up just as surely as he’s going to fuck up their relationship.

No. No, that’s not right. 

He wasn’t ready then, and nothing would’ve made this conversation harder than starting it prematurely.

He wasn’t ready then, but he’s ready now.

Peter takes a deep breath -

(In. Out.

Everything’s going to be fine.

He can do this.)

- and, all in one go, says, “I’m asexual. And maybe you know what that means, but maybe you don’t, so in case you don’t...it means I don’t experience sexual attraction and I don’t really...get the whole concept of finding people sexy and I - I don’t want to have sex, with - with you or anyone. 

“I know it changes things, so I understand if this means you want to break up. I - I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when we first started dating, but I only just realized recently and -”

“Peter, baby, breathe.”

Peter sucks in a breath so harsh it burns as Ned rubs his thumbs, lightly, across his knuckles - a way of calming him down that Ned’s been using since long before they got together.

He’s smiling. Ned’s smiling this soft, fond little smile, and there’s so much affection in his eyes, so much adoration, that Peter can’t believe he ever thought Ned would dump him over this.

“Hi,” Ned says softly, once Peter’s breathing steadily again, releasing one of his hands to carefully tuck a stray lock of hair behind Peter’s ear before giving his hand back. “Pete - alright, first of all, thank you. Thank you for telling me, thank you for trusting me with this, just - thank you.” Peter’s not tearing up. He’s not.

He didn’t cry last time, with Tony - not really, at least - and he’s not going to cry this time. He’s not going to cry because it’s not sad, and at this point, he doesn’t have tears to spare on things that aren’t sad.

He nods jerkily. Ned squeezes his fingers and continues, “So, just to make sure I’ve got this right - you don’t wanna have sex, like, ever?”

Another shaky nod. 

“Like, ever,” he confirms.

“Okay,” Ned says, and there’s nothing in his voice that even implies that it’s not. “Okay, then we won’t have sex.”

It’s so matter-of-fact, like another answer never even crossed his mind. Like another answer doesn’t even exist in his book.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Ned, I - I can’t ask you to -”

“You’re not asking.” Ned’s tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m telling you, Peter - if you don’t want to, then we won’t. Simple as that.”

Simple. Peter opens his mouth, but nothing comes out except this odd stuttery noise that he thinks is the beginning of...something. Something that doesn’t seem to have an end. Or a middle, for that matter.

The way Ned’s looking at him now is the same way Ned looked at him twenty minutes ago. The same way Ned looked at him four months ago. The same way Ned looked at him two years ago.

He might cry. He’s trying really hard not to, but he’s teetering.

“I don’t ever want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Ned lets go of him entirely this time to link his hands across the back of Peter’s neck. His fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his head. “I love you, Peter, and in terms of importance, that beats out literally everything else. I’m with you for you, baby, not for sex. Or, just to cover all our bases here, for Spider-Man. Or for anything else you can think of that’s not my best friend and boyfriend, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Best friend and boyfriend. Ned always puts best friend first, always says that the best thing about them is the fact that they were best friends first. That they’d loved each other in a million ways already, so when they fell in love, that number just became a million and one.

The bed creaks as Peter tilts forward to press his face into Ned’s shoulder. He lets his eyes flutter shut and twists his fingers into the front of his boyfriend’s t-shirt. Wetly, muffled in his sleeve, he says, “I love you too, Ned.” He promised he wouldn’t cry, but the wet spot forming on Ned’s shirt is telling him he broke that promise.

“So this means you’re...it’s ‘biromantic’, right? Instead of ‘bisexual’?”

The question itself isn’t funny, but Peter still huffs a choked laugh, because of course that’s what he asks. Not the things he was actually scared Ned would ask (How would you know if you’ve never tried it? Can’t you just fake it?), just...just whether he’s got the terminology right or not.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Peter says, and god, he loves this boy. He loves him more than he ever thought he could love someone, more than he ever thought he had the capacity to love someone. 

Ned’s fingers run up and down Peter’s spine, tingling all the way down to his toes. He gives a contented sigh. “Sweet. Got it.” There’s something else he wants to ask, he can hear it in the hitch of his boyfriend’s voice.

He’s fully prepared to wait, but it’s not long before Ned says, “Hey, I - I have to ask...I know it’s different for everyone, I know that sometimes it’s not just sex, it’s other types of - of intimacy -”

Not quite what he might’ve expected, but the question isn't surprising, not at all. Now that it’s been asked, Peter knows he would’ve wondered the exact same thing if the tables were turned.

Pulling back, Peter sits up straight and places his hands on Ned’s knees, making him stop mid-sentence. Waits just a second for his boyfriend’s eyes to meet his, then, in as firm a voice as he can muster, tells him, “Anything that we’ve already done is okay, Ned. Better than okay. Nothing you’ve ever done, nothing we’ve ever done, has made me uncomfortable, alright? Never.”

Ned exhales, and his relief is palpable. “Good. Okay, good, I’m glad.” Peter kisses the tip of his nose. Ned laughs, face scrunching up automatically, and playfully shoves Peter’s shoulder before his expression sobers quickly. “But Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“This means you have to tell me when something does make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you forcing yourself to do things you don’t want to do because you think...you think you owe me or something.” Peter starts to speak, but Ned shushes him and his mouth snaps shut. 

“Babe, I need you to promise that you’ll talk to me.” Ned takes his hands again - this time with palms facing Peter, fingers laced together, and elbows resting on his knees so their hands sit in the space between their chests. “Whatever it is, however disappointed you think I’ll be, I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like. Promise me that you’ll tell me if I suggest something you know you won’t like. I can’t read your mind, Peter, as cool as having telepathy would be, which means you have to tell me when you don’t like something so I know what not to do.” “Ned -” “Promise me.”

“Okay!” Peter leans forward to rest his forehead against Ned’s, then lowers his voice to say again, “Okay, angel. I promise.”

They meet in the middle in a soft kiss, lips slotting together perfectly, like they were always meant to. 

“And if you want to have a real talk about boundaries,” Peter whispers when they break, hovering just inches apart, “we can have that. Another time, though, if that’s okay.” He feels him smile more than he sees it. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need, Petey.”

“You’re amazing,” Peter says, pressing another kiss to Ned’s lips, “and I love you.” 

Ned squeezes his hands one last time. “I love you too. Until the sun swallows the earth.”

Peter grins against his mouth. “Until the sun swallows the earth.”