Okay so accidental sugar baby Peter. It starts off as a joke where he sends Venmo requests to Frank (for near death experience reparations lol) and it's just small things like snacks or w/e and frank always grumbles and kicks up a fuss but,,, he also always pays? And then it snowballs from there. Aaaaand send
you like know something so deep about my soul. you know me. i am consumed with this. i've been sitting on it for days.
because yes???? yes yes yes yes, peter doesn't know why he keeps the bit going for so long and frank doesn't know why he keeps actually sending the money. he tells himself it's because he feels bad for the kid. but really, it's because the last time they met up, peter came in civilian clothes, in a shiny new pair of sneakers instead of the beat-up old pair frank was used to seeing. and when peter caught him looking, the kid honest to god fucking blushed and looked at everything but frank as he changed the subject, which could only mean one thing.
and that sparked the beginning of a deep, horrible addiction to seeing his money feed parker, clothe him.
eventually he stops waiting for peter to send requests and just sends a smooth $500 over whenever he needs a fix and waits for the call. waits for peter's "frank, it's too much! i'm sending it back!" just to hear the high incredulous pitch of his voice, the little hint of pleasure that seeps through the resignation when he finally accepts frank's excuse of just paying back the life debt he owes, and that he will shoot peter again if he tries to return it.
and then peter starts sending him pictures.
lunches frank paid for. a new chip for his computer. a haircut. frank stared at that one for a long time, trying to understand the meaning of it.
one random, unassuming tuesday, frank gets another photo from peter.
he's in a dressing room, wearing a black sweater with a white skull on it that looks startingly like frank's emblem, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he points to it with a beaming smile, his eyes scrunched with the force of it.
frank is painfully endeared. his own face starts smiling so wide his cheeks actually hurt. he can't stop it, and he fails miserably to rein it in.
real cute, kid, he texts back when he can think again. he decides to ignore the evolving situation in his pants. peter looks good with his mark on his chest. too good. and him being the actual friendly neighborhood spiderman only adds to the obscenity of it. the vulgarity of what the punisher stands for sitting on the chest of someone as kind and good as peter was dizzying. he feels like a dirty old pervert, knows he is, but what the kid doesn't know won't hurt him.
his phone pings.
what about now? peter had texted. frank tilts his head as he rereads it, confused.
and then his phone pings again.
peter sent a photo.
frank's heart drops into his ass when it loads, his breath catching in his throat as he stares at it.
peter is sprawled on the bench, a splayed, almost casual hand hiking up the front of the sweatshirt, exposing the smooth, muscular expanse of his torso. his legs are spread wide, knees tipped apart. his expression is half hidden by his phone and anything but innocent as he stares into the mirror, directly at a disbelieving frank.
his mind can't even process what he's looking at. he blinks and blinks and the image never changes. it's still peter half-wearing an approximation of his emblem, the undeniable suggestiveness of his pose, the look in the mirror like he knows something frank was hoping he didn't.
he must be taking way too long to say something, because his phone starts vibrating and peter's caller ID appears.
frank picks up. his voice is shamefully rough. "what the fuck do you think you're doing, kid?"
"just saying thank you," peter says, as if they're talking about the weather. he sounds calm. sure. like he's been watching frank as closely as frank's been watching him. he should have known. the kid's super senses probably snitched every time frank even thought about popping a semi around him. fuck. "is that okay?"
"okay? i'm old enough to be your dad. fuck no, it's not okay." frank doesn't sound nearly as chastising as he wants to. he sounds pathetic. like he's begging.
peter makes a breathless little sound over the phone that makes frank's eyes involuntarily roll back in his head. "i know."
"this isn't what i sent the money for," frank tries again to be rational, to make sense of this, thinking maybe the kid's assuming something crazy about this whole exchange, that frank expected this from him eventually, which was absolutely fucking not the case. "i just-i just want to. you don't need to-"
"i know. i want to."
frank's objections die before he can even voice the rest of them. i want to. god. what could he even say to that? no, he thinks. he should say no. peter's just lonely. trying to fill a void losing his girl left behind. frank knew what that felt like. and he would be a monster to take advantage of that, no matter how badly he wants this. no matter how lonely he is, too.
"can i come over?" peter asks after a moment of silence.
no, frank thinks.
"bring the sweater," he says instead, and hangs up before peter can say anything else unraveling.
he passes his own mirror a hundred times in the effort to clean the boat up before peter arrives, but he can't bring himself to look.
