#hdhdj

Harry Potter:

@blustrabry

she once said she'd like another part to this fic so here it is

———

another day on the job (interlude) (so like part 1.5)

warnings: cursing, mentions of nsfw stuff, al has a concussion like real bad remember

words: a good little amount. good gang

———

Albert felt himself surface back to consciousness, but kept his eyes closed a few moments longer. His body felt heavy, like each limb was fifty extra pounds.

And he just had a crazy dream that Race was—

“Albie? You up?” came Race’s light voice.

Albert only let out a long, disgruntled groan in response. He shifted in the—he was in he and Race’s bed, apparently—the bed, reluctantly squinting his eyes open before they widened and he sat up quickly, wincing slightly at the action.

“Not a dream,” he mumbled, staring holes into Race.

Race was still in the damn costume. Suit, rather. The reds and blues popped on his pale skin, and even in the dark Albert had to look away, burying his head back in the covers. “Spider-Man’s in m’fuckin’ room…” he said, his voice muffled by the blankets and his words mixing slightly.

“Yep,” Race said, and his loud popping of the P caused Albert to shrink down further. He vaguely remembered Spot saying how he had a concussion, from...from….

“Dij’ya, like, hit me or s’m’thin?” Albert asked, bringing his head up a bit. His memory was a little hazy, feeling like he had to shovel out specific details about the other night. Or if it was still that night but just a few hours later. All he knew was that he was married to the infamous Spider-Man. He snapped somewhat back to attention as Race came to sit onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Race nodded, looking Albert with a rather blank expression. “I fuckin’ smacked ya, Al.”

Albert stared back tiredly. “You seem pleased w’that.”

Race sighed, glancing away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to Albert’s. “I mean, you lied—you more than lied. You deceived me, like a Disney villain or something, Albert,” Race said, gaze hardening.

Albert dragged himself into a better sitting position. Race didn’t just call Albert by his full name like that. “I get that you’re this vigilante guy, or something, now, but I’m still a cop. I had a hunch with evidence that was pretty legit to me, so I went off it.” God did he not want to talk about this. His brain was already pounding, it didn’t want it to burst out of his head.

Race bit his lip and frowned. “You’re not even coherent and you’re still kinda right,” Race admitted, causing Albert to laugh.

“That’s why I’m the cop, babeyyyy,” he drawled as he fell back against the pillows, closing his eyes again.

Al heard Race sigh. “You’re still stupid for doing that though.”

Al scoffed. “Naaaahh,” he shrugged, “I was right, and so, like, imagine if someone else got to you first. You’d be in like jail, and I would still be like ‘woah, Race is Spider-Man? What!’”

The thought of that being true again struck him. “Oh my God, I can't arrest you. Oh God. Wait. My whole deal is that I find out who you are and then arrest you but I can't arrest you I love you,” Al rambled between whimpers. He couldn't arrest his own husband! Especially since he was kind of saving lives!

Al felt Race curl around him and let himself be held as Race ran a soothing hand through Albert’s hair. “Baby, it'll be okay. You're so smart, you'll figure something out...it'll be fine…” Race whispered.

Albert was silent for a while, almost falling back asleep, when he gasped. “Our bedroom life has been a lie,” Al said quietly. “You're a secret top. You must be, with your strength powers. Oh my god, Race, it's a lie…”

Race burst out laughing. “Jesus, I forgot how fucking weird you are with your head busted up,” he chuckled. Albert felt Race's shoulder shrug against his back. “It's not technically a lie, honeybun. I love when you top.” Al could hear the smirk in his voice and blushed harder than he normally would.

“I know you do,” Al said, with no hint of sexual teasing in his voice whatsoever.

Race smacked his arm lightly. “Fuck you, babe.”

Albert haphazardly waved him off. “I have a task for you,” he said, casing Race to lift his head. “You need to lift this bed. With me on it.”

“Okay,” Race shrugged, hopping off the bed. Albert opened his eyes for this, watching Race crawl under their bed. Suddenly it jolted upward, wobbling slightly before straightening out.

“Jesus fuck- fuck,” Al sputtered as he scrambled to drag himself to the bed’s center. “Go higher, I know you can.”

“I don't wanna hit the ceiling, babe, jeez,” Race sighed, but the bed lifted about another foot without much of a problem. “If I stand, I will, and you will get crushed.”

Albert considered this for a moment. “Then I guess….don't.” The bed was gently put back down, Race crawling back out. “That was kinda wack,” Albert mumbled, moving back to where he was and dropping his head onto his pillow.

Race scoffed a laugh. “Only kids say ‘wack’. What are you, twenty years old?” He curled himself back around Al, who huddled against him.

“I wish. I was smokin’ hot then,” Al mumbled into his pillow.

“Don't worry babe. You're still hot,” Race murmured, kissing the back of Albert’s neck. Race’s hands resumed playing with Al’s hair, who let out a content sigh and leaned into it.

“Maybe when you're better—again, sorry not sorry—we can swing around the city! I always wanted to do that with you,” Race added longingly.

“Nooo,” Al whined, “that's terrifyin’. And what if someone sees me? I'll be fired.”

“Ah, you'll be fine. An’ you know you want to,” Race sang.

A long pause kept the bedroom silent, Race’s hands still brushing through Al’s hair.

“You make my life so difficult,” Al grunted, relenting. “You're lucky I love you.”

“Yep!” Race leaned over slightly and kissed Al’s cheek. “Now go back to sleep, okay? When you wake up we’ll eat somethin’, but you're still way, way out of it right now.”

“Shut it, Spidey-Boy.”

“Sleep,” Race commanded, “you hooligan.”

“Okay, okay,” Albert sighed. He closed his eyes again, a shocking wave of exhaustion almost instantly knocking him out.

“Love you, Albie,” Albert heard faintly, a million miles away.

“Love y’too, Spider-Man,” Al managed, finally passing out.

————

hahaaaaaa you thought Race would be sorry??? nevah

anyway happy birthday to a fucking real one ily

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