15713/The Homing Spider

The Homing Spider
Date of Scene:	25 August 2023
Location:	Cindy's Pad
Synopsis:	Even being in the same city is harder than they thought. When Peter finds himself drawn across town to find Cindy just like she'd gone to find him, they realize something has to give.
Cast of Characters:	Cindy Moon, Peter Parker

---

Cindy Moon has posed:
Cindy Moon stands in the center of her tiny shoebox apartment, a place she's come to love despite its miniscule size. Boxes lay scattered around, some sealed, most open and still waiting to be filled. Every so often, she casts a distracted glance at the brick wall by the doorway, at the pops figures of various Anime characters on the bookshelf.

She could /feel/ him out there, in the city, and she knew he could feel her the same way. It was like a homing beacon. There was a while when it didn't feel quite so... distracting. She'd trained herself to ignore it. But even since she gave in and went to see him again, it felt like a constant little noise in the back of her mind: Don't forget, Peter's out there. Don't forget, Peter doesn't want you here. Don't forget, Peter thinks you're stupid... and sexy. Or stupidly sexy. Or WHATEVER.

Not that she was bothered by it.

Clearly.

Trying to distract herself, her gaze then flits to the posters and finally lands on the life-sized cutout of Kim Taehyung. "Guess you're going last, Tae," she murmurs to herself with a small, wistful smile.

She stuffs the Pokemon pillows she kept on the couch into a box. The Attack on Titans throw rug beneath the television needs to be rolled up, but she dreads the task.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she steps into the compact kitchen space, pulling open the fridge. A takeout box from two days ago, half a carton of almond milk, and some leftover stir-fry she had made...

Distraction sets in again. Without eating, she walks back to the bedroom and sits on the bed, letting her fingers trail over the soft sheets. The room may be small, but it's filled with countless memories. Nights spent curled up with a book, mornings rushing to get ready for the day, and evenings with the soft glow of the pink light being the only illumination.

Peter Parker has posed:
Sure as seeking north, some instinct guides Peter to Cindy's window. The approach is done on whim, on instinct; a sniff of the air, a moment of reflection. Following that burning heat between his temples, for good or for ill. It leads to a set of flats inside Harlem, lots of ancient old city housing put grudgingly into place by the Powers-That-Be.

Her windowsill is empty, then it is not. Rain starts an irregular tattoo against the fire escape, haphazard and unpredictable. Spider-Man, perched in her window sill, is an avatar of disruption as much as he is a figure seeking shelter from the storm. The wet weather makes his webbed suit clingier, more drawn out; the result is a lean and stark figure, all whipcord sinew in the shoulders and underfed hips. Said figure crouches in the open window, knees up near his shoulders and hands and feet clustered tightly together.

"Can I come in?" he asks Cindy, after a silence that last one approximate eternity. "My butt's all wet."

Cindy Moon has posed:
It happened twice, now. Twice she'd been consciously ignoring that constantly-running sonar-like ping that told her where Peter was... and twice, he'd shown up out of nowhere.

Cindy wheels at the sound of the voice, her eyes widening at the sight of him.

"Peter!"

It takes no thought for her to rush over and open that window -- which wasn't locked -- and stand back so he can climb in... dripping wet.

"Come on. Let me get you a towel..."

So, she didn't /actually/ just stand there. She gave them the space he needed and then took a few steps across the small space to disappear into the bedroom. There's the sound of a closet door opening and closing, and when she emerges, she has a fresh, soft, white towel in one hand and a knee-length black robe in the other -- it's thick, soft, and warm rather than silky and skimpy.

She offered them, but not without her gaze /raking/ over him and her throat tightening in a nervous swallow.

"Here. Put this on. You can use the bathroom... it's right through there."

Because, after everything else, what could go wrong with having Peter in her apartment wearing just a robe?

Of course, for her part, she was in a Pokemon tank top and a pair of shorts. It wasn't exactly like she was bumming around her place in lingerie.. but it wasn't unflattering, either.

Peter Parker has posed:
Oh, that robe looks *warm*. And comfortable. And all the things that go with a robe. Relaxation. Peace. The clear declaration to the world that no, no you aren't going to be answering the door unless the sweet delivery messengers of UberEats have brought food winging to hand.

Of course he ignores /that look/. Because to give into it would be madness. That's a road they've been down before. Spidey accepts the offered clothing without a word and steps into Cindy's sparsely furnished bathroom. The ubiquitous Spidey-Suit is wrung out quite thoroughly (thank goodness for aramid and other novel modern fabrics) and left to dry on a hanger. The robe fits; he shrugs into it, and stares into the mirror for a few long counts. "This is an /incredibly/ bad idea, Peter," he reminds himself in a low, self-recriminating mutter. "If you had a lick of sense, you'd suit up and bag out of here."

Entirely reasonable, entirely *practical* advise-- and Peter doesn't follow any of it. He emerges from Cindy's bathroom, robe tugged in place and scrubbing his brown hair with a towel to encourage fast drying. His eyes meet Cindy's, then cast around the apartment as if exploring it. In truth, if he's seen Cindy's decor, it's only been when more pressing tasks were at the foerfront of his brain.

"Didn't figure you for such a Pokemon fan," he tells Cindy. "I got into it with Pokemon X when I was a kid. You?"

Cindy Moon has posed:
Much like Peter, as soon as he disappears into the bathroom, Cindy's pacing her living room, trying not to kick the slew of half-full packing boxes in her sudden bout of distracted panic.

"Did you /seriously/ just give him a /robe/? Are you nuts?" she sighs, her fingers through her hair.

/Then/ the real panic hit. The place was a disaster. It was about ten-percent in boxes, the already narrow walkways were made even less passable by the boxes...

And when Peter emerges from the bathroom, Cindy's straightening, though she abruptly stops with a vaguely guilty smile.

"The TV show," she answers, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a robed Peter Parker to be standing in her apartment talking about Pokemon and childhood memories. "Then I got into the trading cards. It's.. not something I have much of a reason to talk--"

But she blinks.

"Peter, are you okay? Did something happen at the bank after I left?"

It was as if suddenly she remembered that she had no idea why he was there.

Peter Parker has posed:
"Hmm?" Peter's looking at Cindy without really listening to her, a peculiar intermediary awareness between a thousand-yard stare and being unaware of anything that's Not Cindy, right in front of him. "I'm fine," he says, a little curtly. His arms folds across his chest and he steps back a deliberate pace, feigning nonchalance by balancing his shoulders against the wall.

"I'm more worried about you. Your banter with Scorpion, eight out of ten," he assures Cindy. "But I saw what was up with your webbing. I'm worried about you," he tells her. "For one, you're not manufacturing enough of it. For two, the protein/amino acid balance was completely out of whack. Me, I can fix it with a fresh cartridge or a little tweaking from my suit's VI. You, it's a sign of a biological impediment."

Hands spread at Silk, his expression fixed. Clinical. Professional. "Scorpion used to kick my butt a lot when I was a teenager. His suit has only gotten more complex and refined since then. And meta augments to boot. He's a dangerous man, Cindy," Peter clarifies with a firm tone of voice. "Not someone you want to suddenly come up short against-- particularly in the webfluid department. What happened?"

Cindy Moon has posed:
The curt /I'm fine/ draws Cindy's lips into a line and her hand up to run her fingers through her hair. Great. We were doing this again. In a few minutes he'd tell her how he came all the way out to Harlem for nothing... again.

But then there's the worry and the revelation that he'd been paying attention to that last of her attempts to web up Scorpion.. the one that hadn't come anywhere close to being successful.

Her eyes dip away from that clinical stare... and when his tone actually shifts into firm and lecturing, it's anger that starts to rise rather than embarrassment.

"Like you care."

Cindy rolls her eyes and turns to the shelf where she still has a few things up. It may not be fair for her to say him, but in that moment, she didn't care. In /that/ moment, all she wanted to do was throw barbs.

"What's happening in my life, Peter? How's my job? Is there anything new?"

She wouldn't even look at him, just putting stuff into boxes... maybe a little harder than she really should be.

"I tried to talk to you, and you couldn't get away from me fast enough. The next time I see you, it's so you can tell me that I broke our deal and being in Harlem is a distraction. Fine. I'm moving, because Peter, King of the Spiders, doesn't want the fucking exile in his fiefdom. I'm sorry. But don't pretend you give a shit."

Peter Parker has posed:
A rough hand grips Cindy's bicep and pulls her around to face her (apparently unwelcome) guest. Peter glowers at her with an uncharacteristic scowl, suddenly right up in her business and projecting an aura of icy indignation. One doesn't typically think of Peter as a tall person, but he certainly has the height over Silk's comparatively petite frame.

"Where'd I go to high school, Cindy?" he demands. "What instrument did I play in band? Who inspired me to get into genetic research at Columbia?"

He doesn't maintain the handhold when Cindy finally breaks his grip, but makes no move to retreat, either. "You don't know a thing about me and you don't *want* to know," he accuses her. "Because that would just complicate things for you with emotional attachments. And I've been not much more than a piece of meat to you since the day we met. So don't pretend *you* give a shit about *me*."

Abruptly, his posture shifts from looming over her to something... else. More present? Aware of Cindy, maybe, and it happens so fast it's hard to say for sure if it's Peter changing his tone or Cindy adjusting the way she looks at him. They are abruptly far too close to each other again, and the spiking adrenaline of their argument manifests itself as rich pheromones wafting from his still-damp skin. The cant of his hips suggest a different kind of aggression, even without moving an inch. His fingers twitch convulsively, his hand making a hastily aborted motion in reaching out to her as the ire drains from his features.

Palms press to his brow and he forces himself to turn and take two steps away. "God, why can't I just be *angry* at you?" he moans into his hands. "*No one* manages to get under my skin the way you do. So how come every time I get it in my head to give you a piece of my mind, I forget I was angry halfway through?"

Cindy Moon has posed:
The great thing about Cindy's Silk-Sense was that it didn't just pick up immediate threats -- unlike most of the Spiders, she could sort of /feel/ ambient energy around her to the point that she sometimes ended up running towards 'emergencies' that weren't really emergencies.

The awful thing about Cindy's Silk-Sense was that it didn't just pick up immediate threats -- when she was around Peter, it was dangerously close to going on the fritz at all times, and /he/ was a virtual blind-spot. Especially with the sudden surge of emotion that she couldn't tell from their normal spikes, she never saw him coming.

She squeaks, her eyes going wide and dropping the Funko Pop in her hands as she seemed to brace to defend herself -- even under threat, her first instinct wasn't to attack Peter, but she on /high/ alert as she listens... each point seeming to land like a physical blow, her mouth falling open lamely.

Her dark eyes stare up at him, at once hurt, angry, and /so/ aroused. Meek, sweet Peter Parker was hard to resist, but strong, assertive Peter Parker had her body stretching up in a way that left /no/ doubt how receptive she would be to him finishing what he'd just started... daring him, begging him even, to take his frustration out on her.

But then he's rubbing his temples and stepping away, and Cindy's left only with the pounding of her heart and the flush of arousal in her cheeks.

"I... know what you mean," she whispers, breathless.

She moistens her lips.

"For what it's worth... I... I'm sorry I make you... feel that way." Her eyes close, and she shakes her head. "You're.. not just a piece of meat to me, Peter."

Peter Parker has posed:
"Yeah," Peter says, softly. His forehead rests against the drywall. It's nice and cool. A little tactile center of the universe that he can just lean against, hands braced next to him. A small comfort, but it's nice to know that in that moment, the drywall isn't going to do anything more complicated than sit there being drywall.

"Yeah, I know. I'm... I'm sorry, too," he says, and pushes off the wall, partially looking over his shoulder at Cindy. "Listen, I know I was a dick, but... don't move," he says in a low and plaintive voice. "I mean, ... please don't," he amends. "Whatever we've got, whatever..." he gestures vaguely at her, shoulders rotating to look out the window. "Whatever the heck _this_ is, it shouldn't affect our professional life, at a minimum. And there's no reason we can't be friends, either," he adds with a stubborn tone, one which it seems even he doesn't completely believe. "Our hormones aren't the boss of us."

Finally Peter looks at Cindy and manages a wan smile. "I don't think that remotely sounded convincing, did it," he says with a wry, self-deprecating laugh.

Cindy Moon has posed:
That last question, even as Peter's laughing, gets a little shake of Cindy's head and a weak smile of her own.

"It was a nice try, though. Eight out of ten," she says with a smile that grows a bit more, eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and humor. It was a callback to his 8/10 comment about her banter with Scorpion.

"Peter..."

She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly.

"We know the sexual chemistry is there. It's... not like we'd ever get bored with /that/..."

Where was this going?

"Hear me out..."

She wrings her hands in front of her, pursing her lips as she collects her thoughts.

"I'm not... seeing anyone." She laughs weakly. "I don't even have very many friends, at this point. If you're not, what if we.. at the risk of being told that I think you're just a piece of meat again.. stopped fighting it so hard? What would we have to lose, if we just wanted to see where it could go?"

There's a beat, but she hurriedly adds, "I'd like to know what instrument you played, too.. your heroes.. your favorite shape of pasta. I don't mean /just/ the sex part..."

Peter Parker has posed:
Peter briskly rubs his face with his palms while Cindy speaks, turning away from the wall and walking towards the slender, slightly-vulnerable woman imploring him to act like a decent human being. There's a little lingering something in his expression, though it's difficult to judge if that heat is anger, or... some other kind of frustration.

"Yeah, well... I'm not seeing anyone, either," he says, forcing some brutal honesty. "The thing with Gwen, that was-- that was all Ben."

Peter waves that away. Nevermind that his clone-self is dating his crush-slash-greatest failure (even if this one was from another universe entirely). There's no baggage to unpack there, no sir.

"How would we know, Cindy?" he asks, finally. "It's taken everything including social distancing to keep us from tearing each other's clothes off when we're in the same room, and we can still barely manage it. All the time we're together, we can't stop thinking about it," he says. And Pete *knows* it is as true for Cindy as for him-- because that pull is magnetic, two ways. "It's there when we fight, it's there when we *don't* fight, so ..." he licks his lips, betraying some nerves, and looks at Cindy directly. Somehow in that space he's closed the gap with her, just outside of arm's reach. "How are we going to know if it's real or not, when everything's just screaming at us to ... go to Bone Town, no matter what?" he asks, with a sincerely troubled expression-- which is becoming undermined by the subtle darkening of his clear blue eyes the longer he stares at her.

Cindy Moon has posed:
That pull /is/ magnetic. And while Peter might have managed to stay just out of arm's reach, it's that magnetic pull that draws Cindy closer, too, gazing up at him as she listens. It's almost as if she didn't realize she was drifting, ever so slowly, closer to him.

"I'm sorry."

It's not clear exactly how much she knows and how much she's just reading from him -- his tone, his body language, that unique Silk-Sense she has that's /so/ connected to him.

"I'm not Gwen, and this might sound shallow, but..."

That space has somehow closed to nothing, and in the quiet intimacy of her apartment, her voice has dropped to a breathy whisper. She didn't need more than that for the words to reach his ears.

"...I'm not asking you to marry me, either, Peter."

Her hand raise to the lapels of that soft robe, fingers lightly grasping as her chin tilts up, her soft lips practically on offer, even as she speaks.

"How does anyone know? What if we're giving up something amazing just because we're afraid that one part of it is too good? What if we can have the best sex of our lives /and/ actually like each other as people?" Granted, given that Peter was Peter and Cindy was Cindy, that was a dubious proposition at best.

There's no real way to know how much of this is sincere and how much of it is just trying to get that robe off of Peter. Hell, Cindy might not even know, at this point. It /feels/ real. It feels sincere.

Then again it also felt like all she really wanted was to be pushed up against the wall while they wrestled for who was going to be on top.

Peter Parker has posed:
This all sounds perfectly sane, and logical. A reasonable series of arguments in favor of doing something that objectively, they-- and others-- agreed would probably be not healthy *or* super-fulfilling.

On the other hand, Peter swung his ass across the city through a driving rainstorm for no other reason than to just... be near Cindy. To confront her or talk to her or apologize, he wasn't sure, but definitely being *near* her was a win condition.

"Cindy, this is..." Are his hands on her shoulders? When did that happen? She's looking up at him and he's looking down at her with his clear blue eyes gone dark and stormy, and a low deliberate flush coloring his skin.

Peter licks his lips once, looks down, looks at Cindy, starts to speak--

--and instead, absolutely abandoning caution or hesitation, he leans down and kisses Cindy quite firmly.

A beat later, he breaks away with a slow inhale, looking into her eyes. "Okay. Let's... figure this out," he murmurs.