Disclaimer: The characters created by Stan Lee and Marvel have nothing to do with me earning money or claiming rights to the idea, concept, or creation of used characters. Situations involving unowned characters are fictional and don't imply any factual basis on which the Marvel characters were built on. I don't own anything, but the branching plot ideas spun off in my imagination.

Warning: This fiction is slash fiction. For those that don't know what that is, slash occurs when two characters become invovled in a certain way that wasn't portrayed in the cannon story line. Did I forget to mention that it involves two men. Yea, that means its gay. So if you are under age/not allowed to view such material in your area, you have been warned. If such material offends you, please leave, and save everyone the headache of a flame.

Story Position and Reference: I'm pulling from several sources. The comics, the movies, and from my imagination. I'm keeping Spiderman the movie Spiderman, but Johnny is blond, like in the old days. Not that movie Johnny isn't hot... far from it. He's very hot, just, I have a soft spot for comic Johnny. Story wise, I'm spawning off from the movies. Spiderman is taking off from just after Spiderman2 and FantasticFour is branching from just before the second movie. Yea, I want to leave some big movie plot twists in for me to play with.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction. Don't go soft on me though, I need constructive criticism. Forgive me of any mispelled words, my mind seems to have gone blank in the vocabulary department. My thoughts on characters being out of character... this is a fanfiction, I've just turned people gay, being gay in todays society can just mess people up and comes with it's own bag of issues and goodies. I'll try to keep them close though. Johnny, cocky. Peter, shy. Got it (:

Pairing: JohnnyStorm/PeterParker

Chapter Rating: PG13

The Mist's Edge

Chapter One

by: Limi

I'm Just A Little Black Raincloud

Johnny

The mist pooled at his feet. Licking, suckling, pulling him in all directions, the mist wanted him everywhere. It wanted him to stay where he was, never to move, never to budge. It never wanted him to pull away.

The billowing expanse extended far giving him room to breathe and to see with eyes unclouded. Looking around, he sees nothing, but a dark soft blue, velvet in it's richness. He could still feel it, though. Skin tingling and drawing attention to; fingers, neck, arm, and torso. Exposed? He didn't feel the wind brushing him. With whatever modesty he had, he tried to cover his naked parts. It didn't seem like he needed to though. The mist had grown fuller and higher.

The velvety blue had grown softer in tone. The gaze had also grown heavier. Looking, watching, listening with eyes unseen to him. The mist had grown even thicker. Pulling his clear space away into wherever space went when a room was filled up with people. Crowded. He felt crowded. A dark spot took shape in the swelling cotton thick mist. Crowded. Crowded.

He tried to speak, just to say 'hello', just to say 'get away from me.' He couldn't. Choking. Cold. The gaze turned into fingers and the tingling turned into gentle brushing and petting. It pulled softly at the skin on his shoulder and neck. Pulling softly and falling slowly down the arm. Fingers brushing fingers. It didn't feel right to him. Who was this? Scared, lost, damaged by soft touches, he tried to pull away. Pulled, pulled, pulled. Dark eyes fluttered open and he fell. Falling down from where he stood, down further into the mist.

Crash.

He landed hard on the plastic carpeting. Chest scrapping roughly against the 'threads', he blinked. Grunting, he pushed up with an unsteady hand only to crash back in the carpet with a softer hit. Giving up, he rolled his lower half to rest on the floor, pulling his blanket with him. Forgoeing the pillow, he tucked his arm up and settled his head into the nook.

'That must of been some dream,' he thought. Something big enough to push him off of his bed. 'I remember falling and then..? What was before that?' It hit him hard. His mind cleared and he breathed out, "Dark eyes."

He looked up at the time displayed on his dresser. 2:00pm. It looked like a good as time as any to get up. Part of him wanted to go back to sleep to see if he could dream what was forgotten, but the image of the dark eyes told him it was best saved for never.

He got up, threw the blanket on his bed, and padded into the connecting bathroom. The mirror revealed skin that glared and screamed proof that he had hit the carpet harder than he thought. The shower adjusted, the water rolled down in rivets and sank down into the swirling path down the drain. The only time he was ever really cold. The weird shiver he felt was welcome and he stayed still letting the water cool him. Down shapely facial features and over smooth back muscles, down unsteady arms and hands pressed against the wall softly, fingers down, the water licked at him. Drenched cropped blond hair plastered to his scalp, he reached up and ran a hand through it.

The shower finished and lotion applied to the roughened patch of shoulder and chest, he dressed in a normal manner. Muscle shirt, cocky personna to the world, tightly kept together like shrink wrap, to Johnny. Tightly kept together, it wasn't wispey and loose like most other shirts, hinting at being there only when the wind blew. The jeans were standard fair. The kind that hugged him in all the right spots, the spots that women oogle, the spots he thought were his best.

Johnny, you see, was a ladies man. Gentle in touches and abundant in heart melting smiles and glances. Eye's that seemed to touch you from the other side of the room in a manner close to indecent. It may be lewd, but it was safe. The ever cocky stride, ever present smile, heavy touches, shallow breathes, and late nights with girls were safe. It was safe.

Ever since that drunken night in college, where he wasn't as drunk as he had claimed to himself. That night that never happened. That night that was so bad in it's jumbled confusing mess of arms and legs. That night that felt so right, that he would never forget, that he would never let himself fully embrace into reality. Was he gay? Was he straight? Was he just bi? Maybe he was just confused, lost in the swirl of hormones. Maybe he didn't want to be labeled. Maybe he was just scared.

Nah, he couldn't be scared. He was Johnny Storm. Johnny-with-a-girl-every-night Storm.

He wasn't scared. The familiar ding of the elevator pulling him out of his musings and pushing him out into the lobby. Walking out onto the sidewalk, he tugged on his black leather jacket quickly to make sure it was on snug. Part nervous habit, part cocky flare, he smiled at the first person to notice him.

"Look! It's Johnny!," some woman yelled from across the street. Psh, only 10 seconds, new record.

Peter

The rushing wind wistled softly as he did a low arc on the swing. The police radio had said there was a pursuit of a stolen vehicle. Just one more left and he should have cut off the truck. Weird.

Alley way. He knew his way around the city. There shouldn't be an alley way there. Looking around, he didn't recognize a single building. Scanning the grounds, he recognized a familiar restaurant. Strange, it was in a different direction from the police pursuit.

Maybe it was stress throwing off his usual great sense of direction. Maybe it was stress that stopped his spider sense from kicking in last night. Nothing too serious, a lucky kick to the head from some martial artist wanna-be. Lately, visiting dreams of misplaced toys and a lost child swamped his sleep. The muck of uncertainty pulling away from what was supposed to be and what he really wanted.

What did he really want? He wanted MJ to stop hounding him about wedding plans and the love she felt for him. It was great that she understood that he had a second life of late nights and danger, swinging through New York like some modern day Tarzan.

Everytime he saw her, it was still magic. Love without the lust marred the picture he thought he should want. Maybe he could love her without ever wanting to touch her that way. Maybe she could be satisfied with only once in a while. Maybe they wouldn't have kids. He could always spin an excuse about altered genetics and horribly disfigured children. She wouldn't believe him. She lied for a living.

He wanted to break it off, take MJ out of the girlfriend role and plant her back in the friend pot. The crazey idea that he'd finally want to do things with girls once MJ was willing was thrown out last week when he couldn't get it up. He played it off as stress from some new villian that had yet to go public in the papers.

Thankfully the papers had semi calmed down about Spiderman hype. The new superheros were dazzling in effects and flashy in matching costumes. The Fantastic Four were high in publicity, very much so with that fire one. One or two of them were doctors of some sort.

The answer dawned on him. A superhero doctor, someone who could understand confidenciality in the highest regard. Someone who was constantly in the spot light... someone he didn't know. ... Someone he couldn't trust. Maybe this crazey thing with his spider sense would go away over time. Yea, he'll just give it time. Let it wear off.

Maybe he would just... fall. He went blind for a moment and missed his shot. Falling, his surroundings swirling, he didn't know what was happening really. Which way is up? Is that black the road or is it the sky? Are those stars? What was he supposed to do? Just let things happen? Just let the fall wear off?

He took a blind shot in the dark and held on. Hoping against gravity that it was the right side.

Crash. Smack. Bounce. Swing. Bounce. Swing. He felt the side of a brick building craddling him with rough fingers, pulling at the fabric of his costume every time he scrapped against the surface. The world straightened out and leveled off. Two stories down, people stared up at him, wondering what he was about to do next. When did he become a freak show for them to watch?

He thought, 'Maybe I should go home and lay down.' Maybe he should, after all, crime can fight itself tonight and the Fantastic Four can take care of anything overly big. How was he going to get home though?

Bus? He took the bus once, but it wasn't a good idea. Maybe it was just his luck, but it was mostly women and children. Maybe he could just web home? It seemed a little unsafe. Taxi? He had tried that only as Peter, never as Spiderman, and the fact that he didn't carry money on him on his patrols would proove to be problematic. Webbing would cause less bother with the people, but he didn't seem too sure of his balance.

He decided to stay low, so that if he fell, he at least wouldn't die. Yea, that seemed the most logical. Less bother and less chance of dieing.

He would go and see a doctor tomorrow. It would have to be tomorrow.