Author's Note:

Here it is! My first Spideychelle fic since posting the final chapter of Affinity War! This one-shot and those that will follow in the coming weeks are based off a list of prompts, posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon). Feel free to send in a request!

8. "There's only one bed."

The Spider-Man-community-appearances thing was really taking off. In fact, it had taken off so well that Peter was beginning to understand the lives of his superhero mentors in ways he'd never really thought he would get a chance to. Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers had both been in the spotlight a lot, for very different reasons, and Peter thought he could finally comprehend… just how much those spotlights made your back sweat. Seriously, rivers down his spine. Nanotechnology was cool and all, but Peter felt like Mr. Stark could've maybe taken a page from Nike or Adidas's book instead and build in some kind of sweat-wicking layer. Metal didn't breathe.

Apparently, the old suit wasn't as impressive. Didn't have that shine seldom seen outside Mr. Clean ads like the new suit did.

Oh sure, the metal Spidey-suit was fun to wear, filled Peter with pride, and looked awesome―all gleaming and eye-catching for the general public and flocks of photographers―except once it was heated under those lights, it was a human barbecue, expensively and meticulously molded to fit Peter and only Peter. (Or some other guy about his height, build, and shoe size. Or girl. Or even, like, any well behaved dog. Maybe a Border Collie? He was confident that the old model mask would stretch to fit a long snout, having once seen it filled by Ned's foot. There'd been an explanation at the time, but it had been so weird that Peter had given up trying to understand and basically forgotten about it since then.)

Anyway, Peter may have made some subtle complaints about the lights and suit combo. Even though―he swore!―he hadn't done it to bug Happy, next thing he knew, he was getting a call from Pepper, who totally ratted on Happy as bringing Peter's 'whining' to her attention. She had a plan, or her people had a plan, or the Avengers' PR team (who still could've been Pepper's people, Peter didn't know) had a plan.

Then there were informational meetings and strategy meetings and branding meetings and itinerary meetings and somewhere between 'summer world tour' and 'big white marquees,' Peter heard the word 'shade' and said the word 'yes.'

May was in, of course, thrilled by the idea of a vacation and hopefully nothing else, if it was up to her nephew; Happy was going along too and Peter knew his aunt knew, and that she knew he knew she knew, and that this might still not be enough to head off any potential canoodling. He did have to thank their disturbing occasional flirting for one thing though: it gave Peter the idea to ask if MJ could come too. Not for all of it, just a country or two.

He'd also asked about Ned tagging along, but once again, Happy got wind and refused to include Peter's best friend on any of the stops outside of the continental United States. Apparently, Ned made Happy feel like he was on a game show―not the win-a-million-bucks kind, but the have-questions-rapidly-fired-at-you kind. But Happy hadn't met Peter's girlfriend, so some unvoiced reason prevented him from barring her from the trip. Ethics or something. The point was, MJ was coming with him. And that MJ was his girlfriend. That was also the point.

It had turned out to be easier than Peter had thought to confess his feelings to MJ. Especially after she told him she knew he was Spider-Man… and then that she knew he liked her. Luckily, she liked him too, which she was also prepared to disclose. Peter was aware that he was the superhero, but MJ was definitely the brave one.

Between the tour's schedule and MJ's (which she repeatedly informed Peter was the more important of the two―always said with a teasing smirk on her face), they would meet up in Italy for three weeks in August. That was kinda nice, since they'd both enjoyed Venice during the school trip. MJ also appreciated that all of her expenses were being covered, including the flight over so that she wouldn't have to worry about booking tickets last minute when their schedules finally aligned.

To give Peter additional time out of the suit (wow, Happy must have really laid it on thick about Peter's so-called 'whining'), it was arranged that he and MJ would be allotted extra travel days between appearance dates. They could visit museums, eat, take pictures, eat, go shopping, eat―generally get a feel for a ton of places in Italy that their Midtown trip hadn't covered.

A week into Peter's MJ time (he never called it that out loud), he was getting sick of hostels, their accommodations of choice. Only it wasn't the stuff about hostels that people usually got sick of, like, having their belongings stolen, or rooms with too many bunkbeds and not enough privacy, or rats. Peter had heard that there were sometimes rats. What was making him restless was brushing his teeth next to MJ after dinner in the communal washroom and seeing her foamy toothpaste smile in the mirror. Passing her in the hall, both of them in pajamas, as she headed for the room reserved for girls, while he went to the one for guys. Catching her eye as they each shut the door of those rooms and knowing as surely as he knew he was Spider-Man that he was going to suffer all night because he couldn't roll over and see her face or pull her warm body close to his.

That was a thing too. The thought of them sleeping together. In senses of the word that he was not comfortable discussing with May in the middle of a public restaurant, no matter how many times she tried to spring the conversation on him, claiming she wanted to make sure he was mentally prepared and, jeeze, a lot of other stuff that he'd drowned out by loudly chewing a starter salad. May had also been the reason that Peter and MJ sleeping together had not happened at all, let alone as many times as he would've liked it to. (Ideally more than once a day, and twice on Saturday mornings.) His aunt was just around. There was nothing more to it than that. Peter loved her so much, but he sometimes wanted May to decide that he could be alone in the apartment all night, no questions asked.

He probably could've finagled something with the accommodations during this trip if the thought of going up to Pepper and requesting one hotel room for him and MJ to share didn't make him feel like the heated embarrassment on his face was trying to burn him alive. Peter had practiced a couple of times in bathroom mirrors while the tour was moving through France; no good―he was an easy blusher.

The only thing he was capable of doing was behaving himself, holding MJ's hand all day long and breaking off kisses while he still felt like he could. Peter kept his underlying frustrations well hidden. Meaning MJ probably knew everything.

For years, Peter had been developing the belief (and then been mentored into it even further by Mr. Stark) that science was the answer. The question didn't matter. Being in a school lab, theorizing new chemical combinations, or taking stuff apart―possibly not always being able to fix it―let him be both excited and totally calm at the same time. Probably like people who climbed really high mountains, with icepicks or whatever. God, he had tried that, fiddling with tech in the non-metal suit he had packed in his backpack for emergencies while the metal one was carefully housed and transported with Pepper and the rest of the tour crew. Evidently, even the might of science was humbled in the face of teenage hormones. So he was going the route of a true man of science and trying a different approach to temporarily escape his desires.

"Fresh air?" MJ asked again, looking skeptical and also so beautiful as they walked out into early golden light. Peter didn't look back at the hostel they'd just checked out of. It was no friend of his.

"Yeah," he said excitedly, "I was researching on my phone last night and I found this plum orchard place that's only like, an hour out of our way, and it's really scenic and rural and it's kind of like a bed and breakfast too? And it said they make their own―"

"So," she interrupted as Peter was extracting his phone from his pocket to win MJ over with pictures of the property, "this is like a daytrip or we're changing our plans and staying overnight there?"

"Um, the second one. Is that ok?"

"Yes, dork, it's ok with me. But I'm not the one bankrolling this little holiday."

"I called this morning to let…" He paused, cautiously eyeing a couple ambling past them. "…our friends know. They said the rooms are taken care of under some company name that won't make it obvious that one of us is an Avenger."

MJ frowned at him, then yawned massively. Well, her irreverence over him dropping the A-word would keep him humble.

"Jeeze, Peter, how early were you up? And you stayed up late last night figuring this out too?"

Peter attempted an innocent closed-lipped smile.

"Oh, just couldn't sleep."

One coach bus ride with a group of Austrian tourists later (Pepper's people really could get tickets for anything), and Peter and MJ were deposited at a stately yet homey white villa surrounded by green Tuscan countryside. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything so green. The Hulk could come here for hide and seek. But it was better to keep a lid on these supernatural-themed remarks, so Peter didn't say anything out loud. The two of them crunched across gravel, craning for one last glimpse of the sprawling orchard of plum trees on the other side of a hedge. Well, Peter was craning. MJ could probably see over it no problem.

She was blinking, eyes adjusting to the indoors, when they entered, so he steered them over to someone who looked like staff. Not being a hotel, there wasn't an obvious front desk or anything. At least they had a reservation. That was comforting.

"Hi, um, buon giorno. Uh, mi chiamo Peter Parker."

"Ah, benvenuto!" the man said immediately, warm eyes sparkling in a way that Peter was beginning to find very Italian.

"Grazie," he and MJ replied together. Phew, that was one of the words he definitely had down.

He assumed the guy recognized his name because the rooms had been booked so recently. It set Peter even more at ease and he followed the man to a computer where he assumed his booking was being pulled up.

"Bene," the man concluded, glancing at his guests with a friendly smile. "Already paid," he proceeded in lightly bouncing English. "The room upstairs with windows facing east."

"The rooms," MJ jumped in with a reassuring smile. Peter guessed the smile was to show she wasn't trying to be condescending by correcting the man's mistake, just accurate. She could be particular like that sometimes.

Except, uh oh, the guy was frowning.

"Una camera," he said, eyes darting back to the computer.

"Due," MJ countered, holding up two fingers. She and Peter exchanged a glance too short to allow him to convey everything he was thinking.

The man did some more staring at the screen.

"Due persone, una camera," he concluded, facing them and holding his hands palms-up.

"He thinks the reservation was for two people in one room," MJ told Peter.

"Yeah, that's what I thought I was getting," he replied. Still having a lot of feelings about that.

"Con bagno," the man supplied, going with a conciliatory smile.

"There's a bathroom attached," MJ muttered automatically. Yeah, she'd totally been putting in time with her English-to-Italian dictionary. What a nerd.

"It's just," Peter said to the man, willing a certain outcome with his eyes that he wasn't ready to admit to out loud, "we meant to each get a room. Each of us in our own room."

"All of the other rooms have been booked," the man said. "Last reservation was for you. But one room is ok, yes? You're having a beautiful vacation with your girlfriend." He shot MJ a playfully sly look. "Everything has worked out," he concluded in a tone of absolutely certainty that Peter had also identified as very Italian.

The man handed MJ the key and pointed in the direction of the stairs. As they talked on the way up, Peter didn't think he'd had butterflies like this since he'd found out she liked him back.

"It's not like it actually matters," his girlfriend said, cutting their situation down to size.

"No, not really," Peter agreed.

He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Did she realize? Crap, they did it at the same time. His gaze shot forward.

"Sharing a room with one person I actually know is going to be nothing after hostel life," she continued. This was practically rambling for MJ. She'd said 'actually' twice. Peter clamped his lips together, trying not to grin.

"For sure. It'll be roomy."

"Exactly." They arrived at the top of the stairs and went down the hallway. MJ was nearly marching, fully of what appeared to be newfound certainty that she had a handle on everything. "I'll be in my bed and you'll be way across the room in yours."

"Right."

The word 'bed' made swallowing a struggle. Peter was officially an idiot. Then again, MJ's hand was shaking as she unlocked the door to their room, signifying that she was an idiot too. It would be fine though. He would act normal. Sleeping in the same room? Not a big deal. It'd be like sleepovers at Ned's.

The door swung open. They both thought it―Peter knew they did―but MJ was the one who said it.

"There's only one bed."

They discovered that there was a lot to do (outside, isolated, away from urban distractions) all day when returning to their room wasn't an option, and a lot to say to each other when mentioning the room was also off the table. After making sure it was allowed, Peter and MJ took a lengthy walk down avenue after leafy avenue of plum trees. His heart surged as he squinted through dappled light at her smiling face. When the heat rose in the afternoon, they feasted on bruschetta at a shaded table next to the house―the owners' homegrown tomatoes were also in season. MJ had gone up to their room alone to change before lunch and the bright, wet red of the diced tomatoes against the dazzling summer blue of the plate their food had been served on was almost enough to keep Peter's eyes off her legs.

The afternoon stretched luxuriously while they stayed inside to escape the hottest hours; Peter worked out some equations in a notebook and MJ read Dante's Paradiso. (She said she liked to theme her holiday reading based on location―her bookishness made him starry-eyed.) After a while, not planning to, he realized his notebook was in his lap and he was watching her. This place kind of was paradise, though Peter missed New York, but he was definitely in hell. How was he supposed to…? What was he going to…? Man, she was pretty.

He couldn't remember what they ate for supper, dining communally with the handful of other guests. Any fresh, local ingredients were wasted on Peter that night. Was it possible that he hadn't stared at MJ across the table for the entire meal? Yes. Was it probable? No. He made excuses about too much sun, pretending like he'd zoned out and his gaze had only happened to land on her because she was right in front of him.

"Your face is kind of red," she agreed, then reached over to lay her fingers on his forehead. It could have been clinical if MJ hadn't brushed her fingertips through his hair before she drew her hand back.

Peter smiled, feeling weak.

"Sun," he repeated.

They were quiet going upstairs. The wooden steps had a comfortable old groan to them that managed to feel familiar to two people who lived in apartment buildings with concrete stairwells. Their arms skimmed as they walked. Peter exhaled slowly through his mouth, drawn closer to MJ in a hallway settling into its own navy shadows.

"Hold on a sec," he finally said while she unlocked the door. His hand was suddenly on her wrist, then stroking over the back of her hand.

MJ kissed him before Peter could tell her why he'd asked her to wait, which was great because he had no idea. He kissed her in return, slowly, holding her face with one hand so it stayed where he wanted it. The soft bump let him know that yes, he really had backed MJ up that tiny half-step it took to hit the closed door. She slouched against it, keeping their kiss level while everything inside Peter unbalanced. Somehow, his thigh was pushing with its own determination between her legs. He wondered what her skin felt like right below the hem of her white denim shorts. He wondered what it felt like underneath them too.

Peter's hands went to her hips with a squeeze that woke him up a little. He put his palms on the door instead. Gradually, the kiss loosened and the distance between their mouths grew until their lips didn't touch again. The last thing he shifted away from her was his lower body. He'd been hard against her. That was another fact for MJ to collect, another detail. It wasn't much work to be observant with him. Peter gave it all away.

She finished letting them into their room while he tried not to pant on the back of her neck like a wolf about to sink its teeth in. There was a feeling between them, he thought. This was nothing like strolling into a hostel together after a gelato excursion or holding hands in one of a million piazzas. Piazze? MJ had more words down than he did.

So they got changed separately―Peter in the bathroom and MJ in the bedroom―but they tugged each other's pajamas when the two of them slipped by at the threshold between rooms. And they brushed their teeth side by side― he splashed his mouth to clear away toothpaste―but he saw MJ breathing hard when water rolled down his chin, her dazed eyes on it until it passed under the neck of his t-shirt. And they caught each other watching each other―Peter folded down his side, she kept hers squared up to the head of the bed―as they crawled between the sheets.

MJ had opened the large window earlier and the air had come in with the low sounds of people talking while they drank limoncello. Maybe Peter and MJ moved closer because of the breeze. Or maybe there was no breeze because the heat of an Italian August is still and inevitable. They could've related to part of that, if they'd thought about it.

"Pretty sure you're supposed to be way across the room," MJ murmured. Her foot found his.

The bedroom wasn't so dark for him and his eyes traced the curves of her face.

"Pretty sure you're the one who didn't stay on their side of the bed."

"Prove it," she said as her ankle crossed his.

Peter's clipped laugh accompanied a smile that went wide then disappeared completely. His heart pounded.

"I'll see you in court," he said, lips hitting hers when he spoke.

She rolled on top of him and Peter gripped the back of her thigh just below her ass as his tongue shoved into her mouth. Her body forced the breath out of him―not her body's weight, but its presence―and when he could inhale, it was with an audible waver. Using his other hand, Peter inched the side of MJ's tank top up until he could put his hand on her bare waist. She dragged him deeper into the kiss, found the hem of his t-shirt and, with more confidence than he'd used, jerked the fabric upward as far as she could while it was mostly trapped between them. Her pulse seemed to be right there, in her stomach when their skin met. Peter liked it, how MJ felt against him. A lot.

Their lips unlocked and they stared at each other. Her hair tickled his cheek.

"I'm on the pill," she abruptly informed him.

"O-oh." His face probably looked surprised, but he hoped it was at least a good surprised, because that was how he felt.

"Apparently, sending a teenage daughter abroad to meet her nerdy yet deceptively well-muscled boyfriend in a country famous for its nude artwork is the kind of thing that makes mothers nervous. Or so I've found."

MJ pushed herself up on her elbows enough to shrug. Peter was still struggling to exist, but knew it was time to generate a response.

"I'm… glad?" he tried, then frowned slightly. Did that make it sound like he was happy her mother was worried? A second attempt was necessary. "Was the description of me your words or hers?"

"You weren't actually mentioned during the birth control acquisition outing, but you were strongly implied."

Peter gathered her hair at the back of her neck, the slack circle of his fingers standing in for an elastic.

"So, what you're saying is that it's your description." He grinned at her as she rolled her eyes.

"Calm down, nerd. It was just a statement of facts. Am I supposed to have somehow not noticed your body?"

"Oh, I don't think you've just noticed it," he countered, gasping in a breath when her palm smoothed over his abdomen. "I think you've thought about it."

She went in for a kiss, probably to shut him up, but Peter dodged her, thanking his supernaturally speedy reflexes. Sighing like she was going to complain about his teasing became much better sighing as his mouth ran along her neck. Slowly, Peter started to kiss her skin. MJ's upper body grew less tense and she dropped back onto him completely. Then, she started to pant. He licked a line, chasing her pulse.

"Fucking hostels," she groaned and grabbed his face to kiss him on the lips again.

He moaned into her mouth as she wriggled to push her soft PJ capris off. Helpfully, Peter lifted the hand on her leg, then put it right back down on naked skin. He raised his hips, grinding into her thigh. When she gave him a little more space, he was sad, but not stupid; he hurriedly kicked his own bottoms off, then yanked his shirt over his head before sitting up and going after hers. MJ raised her arms and the corner of his mouth ticked with how vulnerable she was, how much she trusted him.

Pajamas shed, they both shuffled back down under the sheet. God, he wanted to reach out for her. His fingers flexed.

"It's ok to―" he started to check, gaze descending.

"It was ok like three hostels ago," MJ assured him.

She grabbed his hand and set it on her hip, then scooted towards him, making his palm run over her skin. Peter thought about their day together. All their days together. He kissed her hard and let his hand travel. There was a noise in the back of her throat that stiffened him an improbable (not impossible―he was a scientist, he allowed for possibilities) fraction more.

He didn't push MJ onto her back, only fingering her gently in a way that made her shaky, but that was how she ended up. Still dumbstruck at the wetness as he traced between her thighs, Peter continued to trail the tip of his middle finger over and around her clit as he climbed onto her. Her hands were busy too; he hadn't expected the greediness behind MJ's touch as she caressed his abs, gripped his biceps, and, most daringly (with a bold raise of her chin as she met his eye), groped his ass. There was so much to ask her about later. Clearly, she really had had a few thoughts in all that time she'd spent observing him. That was excellent, in Peter's opinion.

Her hands stopped roving to grasp his hips, so Peter moved his coaxing fingers away and ground directly against her in a determined drag. She cried out, legs jumping up to shelter his hips. He clenched his jaw. Parting her thighs slightly wider―more as a hint than because she needed to, he thought―MJ guided him that little bit lower, invited him. He looked into her face for long enough to be fully in love with her by the end of it.

"Per favore, Parker," she whispered up to him, utterly fucking with him. "Per favore."

"I know what that one means," Peter said. He pressed the head of his erection against her.

"Then why aren't my manners getting me anything?"

He released a short laugh and started to ease inside her. Right away, he heard MJ's breathing get rough and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, rubbing a hand soothingly across her arm. She shook her head after a minute. Peter thrust a little deeper, questioningly. MJ nodded rapidly. He inhaled like he meant it and slid further. The heat in the room that they'd definitely added to, the midnight sounds of the countryside, the scent of her body on clean sheets―nothing won out in the battle for his attention over the feeling of her, so tight around him that pleasure was an agony.

MJ hooked her arms below his, damp palms pressed to the center of his back, and let out a contented sigh that felt too private to hear. But then again, Peter guessed they were redefining those boundaries now. He worked his way out and back in with a focused care. A few more minutes of gentle rocking had MJ's hips joining in and Peter sighed too, like she'd taken away some massive burden. It wasn't that at all, just that this was the greatest thrill of his life―and he threw himself off skyscrapers on a regular basis!

Once they started, it only gained momentum. For real, it could've been graphed or something to demonstrate the exponential escalation. Peter thought that afterwards, of course. Inside of those immeasurable moments, he was living from second to second with MJ. Her nails were short, but he felt them in his lower back, urging him on. When her neck arched, he licked it. All the time, their hips were going like crazy. The intensity was almost unbearable. That didn't mean Peter would slow down though, especially not while MJ kept saying "faster" every few seconds at an increasingly higher pitch.

She climaxed suddenly and he felt like he'd been riding a bike that had just hit a curb, sending him flying over the handlebars; the strength of her squeeze, holding him irresistibly, was a power Peter was not equipped to fight. It brought him to his knees. Metaphorically. Physically, he was still on top of her, thrusting shallowly through his orgasm while he waited for his brain to reassemble and tried to keep forcing those shuddering gasps out of MJ.

They collapsed together after another minute: her back landing on the bed and him landing on her. She made sure to exaggerate how much he was squashing her, while also wrapping her legs around him and pressing her face intimately into his neck.

"Laugh now," she encouraged, "but how will you live with yourself after crushing me?"

"I can feel you smiling against my throat."

Her face twitched as he felt her getting her expression under control.

"I was getting ready to bite you. You know, battle my way free."

"Oh, sure."

"Tell me you've never taken down a bad guy like that," MJ challenged.

"With my teeth?"

"It's called using all the weapons in your arsenal."

Peter's arms closed in around her and he smiled to himself when MJ's palms went to his biceps as he moved.

"Good thing you came for part of the tour. These are useful tips."

"You know what they say. Behind every superhero is a girlfriend, assessing their combat technique and checking out their ass."

He laughed hard, kissed her, and laughed some more. Her smirk was delightfully smug.

"I knew you were thinking about it," Peter teased quietly, mouth on her throat. His hips jerked.

She made a round mmm of agreement, her fingers raking into his hair.

"One more piece of advice," MJ offered.

"I'm listening," he promised, barely bucking.

"No―" she gasped, "―more hostels. I sleep where you sleep."

"Or not so much sleep as…"

The white sheet twisted helplessly as MJ pushed a grinning Peter onto his back.