So... if any of my already fans are reading this, I know I haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry. I lost the password for this account hehe ^^" but all is well now! I will hopefully begin updating the others soon...

To everyone: Hello :D This little story is basically a test run. If enough people like it, I'll finish it, if not, eh. That's alright :) I just figured there should be more SpiderFlash fics in the fandom, so I decided to take a chance on it :D Umm... I lot more intimate than my others usually are... It wasn't supposed to come out like that, but... ahh well I guess lol. Anyways, I hope you like it, let me know. Thanks!

He tossed his head back with a moan at the hot pleasure running through him. His panting and the slick of skin on skin was the only sound in the hallway. How the hell had he gotten here? Peter briefly wondered, groaning at a particularly harsh jerk below. His pants were unzipped and open, a warm hand down them, pumping. He was in the freaking hallway. In school. He'd pointed this out several times, but of course, to the other it didn't seem to matter. Not that he was surprised. A hot kiss on his neck woke him up, causing him to open his eyes.

Flash smiled at him, slightly cocky, but Peter could see the softness in his eyes. The blonde boy winked at him and suddenly the hand was gone. Before Peter could complain, though, or even speak, Flash was on his knees and something hot and wet was engulfing him. Peter let out an extremely loud surprised moan and his fingers automatically went to Flash's hair, but the other boy paused and made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like 'uh-uh'. Peter let a whine out and moved his arms over his head, fingers trying to find purchase on the lockers behind him. He wanted to thrust his hips into the hot wetness, but Flash had a tight grip on his hips, and the fact that Peter could easily break his grip didn't even come to mind as he moaned again, letting Flash be completely in control, and that tongue—

Peter moaned again, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering again how in the hell he had gotten here.

~Flashback~

He'd been getting hurt a lot lately. Really hurt. Peter guessed it had something to do with him not seeing Gwen anymore, and there were always dangers—his small limp and the gashes on his chest proved that—but now that the doctor was locked away, he just hadn't been taking things seriously, not paying attention. And he was starting to get suspicious…

There were eyes on him, he swore it. Most of the time Peter brushed it off, but it had been bothering him lately. It was as if they knew something. Peter shook his head and shoved his books into his locker. He was just being paranoid. He told this to himself every day, and every day it had the same great effect of not working in making him any less paranoid.

Flash had been watching Peter Parker. The athlete had always taken an interest in him—though he'd break someone's neck if they brought that up to him. But especially ever since Peter's grandfather had died, Flash had been… worried. From across the hallway, he peeked out of the corner of his eye at Peter, who was at his locker, seemingly muttering to himself. Something had changed after his grandfather died. He had never been a wuss, despite his scrawny size—he'd stood up to Flash plenty of times to prove that he wasn't scared—but now he was like the Incredible Hulk or something.

Not just that—Flash knew what it was like to lose someone. He remembered Peter's eyes that day, the day he'd slammed him into the lockers; he'd seen the exact same emotions in Peter that he'd felt when his dad passed. Flash shook his head, deciding not to dwell on the subject—at least not in school. Just then one of his friends nudged him and he turned to them, pretending to take interest in their conversation. Again, though, he couldn't help himself from sending a glance towards Peter's locker to see that it was closed, the skater boy himself lost in the crowd the passing period had created.

In class, Peter sat in the back, his hood up. Flash knew he always did this, but today especially he noticed. He'd been keeping his head down, answering the teacher without so much as glancing up. Flash knew. He just knew something was up. Without really thinking about it, while there were only five minutes left, Flash was out of his seat and over to the back lab table in a second.

Peter felt someone looming over him and glanced up, before letting out a tired sigh.

"I'm not in the mood, Flash." Flash paused for a second. Why the hell was he over here? …Oh well. He jerked his head up.

"What's with the hood, Parker? Huh?" Peter tensed a bit, before forcing himself to relax, hoping Flash hadn't noticed.

"What do you care?" Flash rolled his eyes.

"Don't have to be a baby about it, Parker. C'mon, what is it? Someone call you ugly and hurt your feelings or something?"

"Get lost, Flash, I'm really not in the mood," Peter snapped, slightly harsher than before. Flash clenched his fists. Why the hell did he even care about this dweeb? I don't, he quickly defended himself, He's just so damn mysterious… Flash pushed away that train of thought violently, and without another thought, yanked Peter's hood down, causing him to give a yelp as a few locks of messy hair were pulled with it. Flash's eyebrows shot up, and only Peter could see his face and could have sworn he saw concern laced in it.

Inside, Peter was freaking out. What the hell does he do now? Oh god, Oh god, he was going to find out and everyone would know and they would dissect him in a lab or lock him in jail or both oh god what does he do—

"What the hell happened to you, Parker?" Flash breathed. On the left side of Peter's face, stretching from his cheekbone to above his eyebrow, was a blotchy purple bruise mixed with green and yellow. Peter was trying to avoid his eyes, before he scoffed.

"You think you're the only one at this school who has it out for me?" the skater snapped. Flash raised his eyebrows again in disbelief.

"Someone at this school did this?" Flash wanted to touch it, for some strange reason, but figured that would be hell of weird to do to his enemy—besides, what the hell would everyone else think if he, Flash, started caressing Peter Parker's (of all people) face. Not to mention what Peter's reaction would be.

"Maybe," Peter muttered, before glaring up at him, "Does it matter? What do you care, anyway?" Flash glared back at him.

"I don't," he growled quickly. It was silent, and they were aware that several pairs of eyes were on them. Finally Flash smirked a bit.

"Well let me know the next time someone tries to kick your ass. I might join them." Peter scoffed in the way he did that sounded as if he knew something Flash didn't, which frustrated Flash beyond belief, but he ignored it and walked back to his seat, ignoring the questioning glances and small chortles and comments and whispers by his friends and those around them.

Well, he'd tried. If Parker wanted to keep his secrets, Flash decided, then let him keep them. It didn't matter to him… he kept telling himself.

Rumors had spread quickly about what Peter had said, and the rest of the day people were trying to get a peek at his bruise. Luckily (for once), he didn't have many friends, so there was no one close enough to him to question him directly, though he did earn a worried glance from Gwen during History. Everyone was whispering and muttering, trying to figure out who had decked Peter in the face—he had no doubt that some of the football guys would lie and say they did it so they could brag about it to their girlfriends and friends.

Peter growled under his breath as he walked down the hallway towards the doors, finally able to go home and see Aunt May… as long as nothing popped up along the way (which it always did.) But this… publicity was ridiculous. He needed to blend in, not be the big talk of the school for anything, much less fighting. It's all that stupid Flash's fault. Why hadn't he just left him the hell alone when he asked him to? Because he's a douche, Peter reminded himself in his head. Just then he heard Flash's voice and looked up from under his hood.

"…need to pick up eggs for my mom." Perfect. A plan started to form in Peter's head—a silly one, immature definitely, but it was a plan nonetheless—as he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, hiding behind people as they exited the building, keeping a close eye on Flash.

Out on the streets, Peter took one last glance at Flash before disappearing into the alleyway and climbing up the wall—he would never be able to know he was being followed here. From the rooftop, he watched Flash as he glanced around, as if he felt he was being watched (causing Peter to duck) before entering the small convenience store Peter often went to.

A few minutes later he saw in the window Flash pay with a couple of crumpled bills and some change before exiting. Peter followed him, the sun beginning to set, settling Peter's muscles as the cool night air breathed lightly through his suit.

They were nearing what he recognized as a small, run-down neighborhood, and frowned a bit, before brushing it aside; most likely Flash had to walk through it to get to his own. Finally, Peter got tired of waiting and jumped ahead, landing on the rooftop and crawling down the alley side of the wall. Clinging to the brick, he peeked around the corner as Flash headed his way, not knowing at all. Peter smirked and pointed his wrist, aiming carefully.

"As they say," he murmured, "The bigger they are the harder they fall." With that, a string shot out from his wrist, catching right where it was supposed to; around the ankles of the blonde, unsuspecting athlete. With a yelp he came crashing down, and Peter quickly retracted the web, snickering. He watched as Flash slowly lifted himself up, and stared down at the crushed carton of eggs below him. Peter laughed under his breath, and had to escape before he started busting out laughing. Quickly, he shot a few webs, pulling them taught before shooting off and disappearing into the night, satisfaction and hilarity bubbling in his chest.

Flash's chest ached as he stared down at the carton. Shit. He let out a string of curses in his head, staying there, in the middle of the street, his face in his hands. His mom would be devastated. His step father—Flash swallowed a bit, though he tried not to show the fear on his face, despite there being no one around to see it or judge him.

He opened the carton slowly and his heart crushed all over again.

Not one egg.

Not one egg had been spared. Weeks worth of work, wasted. He was such an idiot. Flash wanted to scream in frustration, but he settled with grabbing the carton, standing, and throwing hard against the ground, splattering yolk across the street. Slowly he settled his breathing, clenching his hands, swallowing.

He shifted his backpack and began walking again. He was almost to his house. The small, rutty neighborhood most people sneered at was really his home—no one had ever been over, of course, and he wasn't ready to disclose that information.

At all.

Ever since his dad died, they'd been even worse off than they had before; his mother had started dating that piece of crap—he was a dick, but he helped them with money… most of the time. Flash would rather beat his ass and see him gone, but he knew his mother couldn't handle the pressure of gaining money on her own, for him and herself. When Flash graduated, he was going to get both of them out of there; send Jerry to hell for all he cared.

The familiar sound of the television inside let him know that he'd arrived on his front porch without even realizing it. It was a rickety old thing—the lights only worked sometimes, and they only had one bathroom, but Flash knew it was better than it could have been. Still… it wasn't enough for what his mom deserved. Flash shook his head and pushed the door open, stepping into the warm, stale air. Beer and cigarette smoke was what waved through his nose, and he didn't even make a face anymore like he had the first few months. His mother looked up from the small kitchen and gave him a smile.

"Hey, dear. You get the eggs?" It was silent, and Flash shuffled his feet. From the recliner in the living room to his left, the gravelly voice he hated came to him.

"Answer the woman, boy." Flash glared at the back of the chair since he knew he'd be unseen, before turning to his mom, who gave him a disapproving, warning look.

"Uh, no… I couldn't." His mother smiled again.

"Oh, well that's ok. You can just give me the money and I'll go get them in the morning." Flash's heart hammered.

"I… I can't." His mother's face fell, and her eyes dropped to his chest, where spots of yolk had soaked in.

"Oh… dear," she murmured, reaching his eyes sadly. The recliner squeaked and Jerry's huge form came into few, his dark, beady eyes scouring him as he clutched a beer can in his hand.

"What the hell do you mean you can't? Did you spend it, boy?" he growled.

"No," Flash snapped quickly, "I just… tripped and they broke. I tried to save some, but…" His back slammed against the door, his head snapping against it painfully as his mother shrieked. Jerry's huge paw of a hand pressed into his chest, effectively pressing the air out of him, making it painful to breathe.

"Are you retarded, boy? Yer momma gives you money and you can't even get the eggs here? What the hell am I suppose to eat in tha mornin' before I go to work for you pathetic people, huh?"

Yourself, Flash hissed in his mind, but he knew way better than to say it out loud.

"Che," Jerry grunted, "You're just an idiot. You expect everythin' to be handed to ya, same with yer damn mom—"

"Watch your mouth about my mom," Flash warned, eyes glinting. The pain erupted on his jaw, and he fell, the hand holding him disappearing so that his head cracked against the wall before he could catch himself, spots coming into his vision. When he blinked them away, he saw his mother, holding onto Jerry's arm, shrieking at him, eyes scared, while Jerry glared down at him with those beady eyes.

"You go ta yer room, boy." Flash glanced at his mom, who nodded eagerly, eyes with tears in them, before picking himself up, dragging his fallen backpack with them. He moved past Jerry without so much as a glance—he knew just a glare would set him off again—and shared an apologetic look with his mom before disappearing up the creaky stairs, into the only room in the house that wasn't covered in cigarette buds and empty beer bottles.

What a shitty day.

When Peter entered his room through his window that night and slipped of his mask, the buzz of laughter and satisfaction still vibrated through him. Though it had slightly faded, he still found it funny that Flash hadn't even thought to look around to see what had tripped him.

Doubt he'd suspect it was Spider-man, Peter snickered. He thought back to when Flash had looked down at the eggs, and out of nowhere, a twinge of guilt came to him and he frowned. He shook his head and walked over to his desk, tapping the mouse of his computer to wake it up, awakening it on the picture of the debate team. He'd been planning on changing it since he and Gwen…. He'd never been able to bring himself to do it.

Above the computer on his wall, the faces of his parents and uncle smiled at him, though when he looked at his uncle, all he could see was disappointment in him. He would definitely be angry at Peter for what he'd done. But it was just silly, wasn't it? It wasn't like he just couldn't buy another carton of eggs.

Though, every time he remembered the scene now, when Flash had picked himself up, all he felt was a whirl of guilt in his stomach and chest. What had he done after that? Had Flash continued home, or gone back? What if he'd gone back and there was another robbery? What if something had happened to him on the way home because of him, just like what had happened to his uncle—

Peter smashed that train of thought murderously. No. Stop. It was just a harmless prank… he would make sure that Flash was at school tomorrow, and he would be, safe and sound. Peter nodded resolutely, ignoring the uneasiness still fluttering lightly in his stomach. A call from Aunt May summoned him downstairs, and Peter quickly jumped into his normal clothes, hiding his mask in his bag before heading downstairs, brushing his worries aside.

Peter glanced frequently from his locker around to where Flash usually hung out with his friends. He was late. Was he ever late? Peter wasn't sure. He doubted anything had happened to Flash, but still, if it had, and it was his fault—there! Flash had just appeared from the crowd and crossed to his friends, tossing a smile their way and giving a high-five to one. Peter sighed slightly in relief, shaking his head a bit with a smirk at himself. He closed his locker and walked off, feeling a lot better now that the guilt was off his shoulders.

Lunchtime, everything declined, however. The hallway was empty, and Peter walked slowly, in no rush to get outside and be surrounded, as per usual, by people he didn't like and who didn't really like him.

Just then he heard the sound of a body slamming against a locker—a sound he knew well—and he looked up to see a blonde athlete holding a smaller, wiry teen by the shirt. Flash pulled his fist back, a snarl on his face, and both other boys in the hallway saw that he had the full intention of releasing it. The victim flinched, and Peter shouted out, running forward.

"Hey!" Flash turned and Peter came to a halt a few feet away.

"Let him go." Flash glared.

"Don't tell me what to do," he snarled, his fist tightening on the other boy's shirt.

Peter was taken aback; he'd seen Flash being a douche, teasing other teens for fun, but he'd never seen him this angry. It was as if he were about to beat someone to a bloody pulp—Peter considered the situation and decided that that was an idiotic analogy. Flash tossed the boy to aside, bringing Peter back to the present. The other boy gave a sparing glance back before scurrying off, disappearing around the corner in a panicked blur.

Flash's flaming eyes were still stuck on him, and Peter could almost physically feel the heat from them.

"You wanna be next, Parker? Huh?" Peter glared back at him.

"Why are you such an asshole, Flash?" Flash's eyes glinted and Peter was slammed against the locker, fingers curled around his neck. Before they could get comfortable, Peter easily coiled his legs and kicked Flash in the hard stomach, grabbing him by the shirt and jaw and slamming him against the locker in turn.

"What the hell is your deal, man?" Peter snapped.

Flash struggled a bit, flinching, but wasn't able to come free from his hold. Just then Peter felt something against his fingers and glanced down, frowning. The fingers against Flash's jaw lifted and rubbed together, beige powder feeling weird on his fingertips. Peter's eyes flickered back up to Flash's jaw to see the area where the make up had rubbed off; underneath it was a large green bruise.

The observation had made Peter weaken his grip and before he could open his mouth to ask, Flash shoved him off. He adjusted himself, his jaw clenching and face looking murderous. He pointed accusingly at Peter, who stared at him, mouth parted.

"Not a word to anyone, Parker, or your ass is mine." An inappropriate thought popped into Peter's head then and his face heated up as he pushed it away, trying not to wonder where the hell that came from. Flash began to walk away, and Peter stepped forward.

"Flash—"

"Not a word, Parker!" The words seemed to echo, and after a moment of silence, in which Peter decided not to speak or move, Flash continued on, disappearing around the corner. Peter took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"What the hell?"

End! Until Next Time~