Behind the Mask

SEVENTEEN: From New York, With Love

.:::.

I waited an immeasurable amount of time for Peter to come back. I figured he would only be gone an hour or so, and found myself pacing up and down the open floor of his apartment while I waited for him. The pacing didn't help much.

Once a good amount of time passed, I became really concerned. We both knew what was out there waiting for him. It was just a matter of how many more times he could squeeze himself out of it. I didn't know how much more he could handle. I didn't know how much more I could handle. The uncertainty of it all was the most dangerous part.

A little while later, I started to worry. If I wasn't pacing, I was chewing my fingernails down to nubs. If I wasn't chewing, I was playing musical chairs in all of the seating arrangements he had to offer, including the floor. It was late, my eyelids were droopy, and I considered going home, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell if I wanted to be there so I could slap him or kiss him, or if I wanted to scream or cry. I had no idea, but all I wanted was to be there when he returned, because I knew he would. He had to.

It was so late and I was so tired that I lay across his bed while I waited. By that point, I was sure something bad happened. I was afraid to turn on the news and see for myself. My emotions went haywire, my eyelids threatening to release tears and my throat threatening to release a scream, but I held them back. Neither would bring Peter home.

When I calmed down a bit, I realized I was truly in love with him. Peter was all I could think about anymore, especially when I was caught in a memory of Greg. I wondered for a moment what my brother would think, if he would approve of my falling head-over-heels for Spiderman. I was sure he would be furious, and I could almost picture him turning red and calling me an idiot for getting involved.

But I knew in the end Greg would have wanted me to be happy, and it would be a circumstance like this one that would change his mind. I'd give him a worried call and he would reassure me, maybe throw in a joke or two. He'd tell me that Peter wasn't such a bad guy after all, and he would be swinging himself home for me any minute...

I must have drifted to sleep, because the wall-shaking sounds of thunder brought me in and out of consciousness. Each time I woke up, I felt the bed next to me in hopes of touching a warm body, but I was disappointed each time. By early morning, it was brighter behind my eyelids. I could still hear the rain smattering against the windows and running through car tires outside.

The bed was still empty.

What if he wasn't coming back? What if he was gone, missing or dead? What would I say, how would I explain Spiderman's disappearance, let alone Peter Parker's? What the hell would I do without him?

I stopped breathing when I heard the refrigerator door close in the kitchen. I thought it was my imagination, but then I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. Thank God it was Peter, his wet hair and shirtless torso just short of a miracle.

I didn't jump up right away, despite my overwhelming relief. I kept my eyes closed, peeking just under the ends of my eyelashes. He drank half of his glass of juice and set it down on his desk. I checked to see if he was harmed, scanning my eyes over every inch of his skin. I saw he was fine, but I didn't look away. I lost myself in the floppy dampness of his hair, the gentle curve of the muscles in his arms, and the defined shoulder blades in his back. God, I was in love with him.

He went to check the stormy weather outside before he finally turned to look at me. I closed my eyelashes a little more as an instinct. I could only see his dark outline against the windows as he slipped into the bed beside me.

He lounged on his side, propping his head up by his elbow. I heard him breathing, slow and deep. I could feel the heat of his body travelling across the blankets. My skin absorbed it, but it still formed goosebumps.

He was very close this time. I knew I was probably taking up the center of the bed myself, but my forehead was inches from his chest. I had to resist encasing him in my arms.

I wondered if he thought I was still sleeping. He must have stared at me for a while, because he didn't move. Then I thought he knew I was awake. Was he waiting for me to speak?

I flinched just a little when his fingertips brushed against the softest part of my cheek. The area burned after his finger disappeared, only to return and brush it again. His touch was deliberate and certain, like he knew exactly what it was doing to me.

He took his trail of fire down the side of my neck and across the base of it. On his way back, he dipped lower and traced the curved line of my collarbone.

My breathing was shallow. He had to know I was awake now. His fingertips lingered, drawing circles around my shoulder. He led them down my arm, around the crease of my elbow, and finished at my wrist. The goosebumps weren't going away anytime soon.

"Stop," I said groggily, though I wanted him to do the exact opposite. My goal was to sound normal, to appear unaffected by his absence. He knew I wasn't that weak.

"You were worried about me, weren't you?" He finally murmured.

I let out a sigh and started breathing again. I dismissed my first idea real fast; he deserved to know exactly how distressed I had been. "What happened?"

He repeated the trail of his fingertips, starting at my cheek again. "By the time I got there, I didn't have any reason to get involved. They found another suspect, the last person to see him before he was killed."

I gulped when he swirled his fingers down my neck. "Why didn't you come home?"

"I wasn't tired, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I spent most of the night thinking about things."

I considered it all in my head. While I was lying there creating the worst scenario possible, he was wandering around the city like a lost tourist.

I closed my eyes completely, because I couldn't believe he put me through that. "Dammit, Peter! What the hell? You could have stopped in to tell me your plans for the evening."

By then, his hand met up with mine again, but this time he laced our fingers together. "I'm sorry." He chuckled. "I didn't know you would be so worried."

After a moment of clenching my teeth in irritation, I squeezed his hand back in mine, staring at the reflection of myself in his eyes. I was absolutely certain he heard my pulse jump and quicken on the spot.

"What is it?" He asked. He misread my expression as anxiety. "I'm here now, see?" He pressed my palm to his face and held it there.

I used my hand to pull his face nearer to mine. I didn't kiss him as much as he kissed me, but for a specific reason. I whispered something against his lips: "I love you."

My stomach twisted when he froze, his head lifting a bit in response. My big mouth may have just ruined everything. I immediately wanted to take it back, pretend it never happened. He didn't need to know how I felt, not if he didn't feel the same.

His silence had the potential to kill me. I held my breath.

"You shouldn't," He finally whispered back.

"But I do." I insisted, trying to sound as confident as I felt. "I love you, Peter."

It only took him another moment to respond without hesitating. What started as a sweet welcome home turned into a much more heated greeting. The gentle kisses were replaced with deep and meaningful ones. Our conjoined hands weren't conjoined anymore, because they were distracted with other touchable skin. My mind wasn't focused on anything else but what I wanted, and I wanted Peter.

His fingers snuck beneath the hem of my shirt and his hands danced on the sensitive skin of my tummy, wandering places no one had ever been. His lips were everywhere, my lips, my chin, my neck, my ear.

I couldn't keep myself from tracing the bold lines carved in his chest, as well as the pattern of abs in his stomach. The entire form must have been sculpted by angels, or by God himself. My hands displayed bravery, and I practically started whimpering when he stopped my wrist from touching the waistband of his pants.

"Wait, wait." He was breathless, and completely ruining the moment. "Are you sure this is -"

"Yes."

He laughed a bit at my certainty. "I want you to be absolutely sure."

"I am," I insisted, watching him carefully. "Are you sure?"

He blinked his eyes shut and opened them again. "Uh huh."

It made me even more impatient. "Then stop talking." I forced his neck down in another kiss that proved my point.

He backed away again despite my grumbling. "You're sure you're not drunk or anything?"

I stared at him. "Is that some kind of sick joke?"

"No, no, I just..." He was still ruining it.

"Peter, look at me." I couldn't stand that worrisome crease in his eyebrows. "Last night was a perfect example of how everything can and will change for us in an instant. Right now, we're together, and we have to treat every moment with so much more importance than we're used to. I want to be with you, Peter - really be with you. Why can't you see that?"

He seemed so conflicted, it was painful to look at him this way.

It dawned on me then. "You don't love me, do you?" My voice was so cold, so fragile. I shouldn't have said anything at all.

He sighed and pressed his forehead securely against mine. "I absolutely love you, Olivia."

My pulse jumped again. He sent me on these emotional rollercoasters like it was supposed to be an amusement park ride. I tried to be sensitive to his intentions. "Then please, just shut up."

The combination of his breath on my neck, his hands tucked in mine, and our bodies entangled (with protection, of course) sent me to a different world where I didn't have anything else to care about. I didn't lose my brother, I wasn't regularly harassed by a drunken cop, and I didn't have to worry about Peter. He was there, as close as physically and humanly possible, and he loved me like I loved him.

A while later, I cuddled into his chest, inhaling the beautiful scent of his skin as his protective arms held me in place. He had to be tired after making me worry all night long, but he didn't show any signs of sleeping.

I discovered that his hair was wet courtesy of the rain outside, and I could smell it on his skin as well. It was mostly dry now, sticking up in a few funny yet extremely sexy places.

"I love you," He said it this time, whispering it into my own messy hair. "You have no idea."

I smiled in anticipation of hearing the two parts strung together. "I love you, too." I waited a little for the love to be absorbed before I spoke again. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

I drew a tiny box on his chest with my finger. "Don't you ever put me through that again."

I felt his entire body go cold. "I thought - I mean I enjoyed myself..."

I dropped my forehead to his chest and giggled. "No, no, me too. I mean going on late night adventures when you're wanted by criminals and accused of murder."

"Oh." I bet all my money he was blushing. "Okay, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I outlined the box I drew again. I knew I was asking him to choose between two things that he loved, and I already understood that Spiderman was his top priority. All he had to do now was decide which was better for him.

.:::.

Ah, I hope I got that chapter right :P This is just an FYI/heads up that the end is near...only a few chapters left :( I love writing this so much, but I also love that all of you have followed along this far! I appreciate your support more than you think :) be sure to tell me your thoughts in a review!