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koumiyr · 1 day ago

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kiss you on the knee (before the bruises fade)

wayne's vetting process hit 1000 kudos (my first ever fic to do so) so here's a fic i've had written up for a while as a treat. (physical hurt/comfort, body worship, intimacy)

The mission had gone sideways in a way that only their missions could—what was supposed to be a simple surveillance operation had devolved into a confrontation with not one but three separate criminal organizations. By the time they'd finally made it back to Jason's safehouse, both of them were exhausted and nursing various injuries.

Jason had fared better than Peter, protected as he was by his armor. Peter's suit, while technologically advanced, prioritized mobility over protection. The result was Peter limping through the window, holding his side and sporting a bruise blooming across his jaw that was visible even through his mask.

"You look like hell," Jason observed, already pulling off his helmet and reaching for the first aid kit he kept fully stocked.

"You say the sweetest things," Peter quipped, wincing as he peeled off his mask. "I think the Triads and the Russians should consider couple's counseling instead of using me as their personal punching bag."

Jason's eyes narrowed as he took in the full extent of the discoloration spreading across Peter's face. "Let me see the rest."

"It's fine, just some bruising. Nothing's broken," Peter insisted, though the careful way he moved suggested otherwise.

"Parker," Jason said, using that tone that brooked no argument. "Suit. Off. Now."

Peter sighed but complied, slowly unzipping the top of his suit and gingerly pulling it down to his waist. Jason sucked in a breath at what was revealed—a patchwork of bruises in various shapes and colors decorated Peter's torso, with a particularly nasty one blooming across his ribs on the left side.

"Jesus, Pete," Jason muttered, crossing the room in three quick strides. His fingers hovered over the worst of the bruising, not quite touching. "What happened to your spider-sense?"

"Too many threats coming from too many directions," Peter explained with a half-shrug that he immediately seemed to regret. "Couldn't dodge everything."

Jason guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt in front of him to better examine the damage. Peter's skin was warm under his touch as he gently probed the edges of the largest bruise.

"Doesn't feel like the ribs are broken," Jason said after a moment. "But we should tape them to be safe."

"Told you," Peter said, attempting a smug smile that fell short due to the wince it caused. "Enhanced healing, remember? I'll be fine by morning."

Jason didn't respond immediately, too focused on cataloging each mark marring Peter's skin. A fist-sized bruise on his sternum. A scatter of smaller contusions along his right side, likely from being thrown against something. The darkening smudge across his abdomen that matched the tread of a boot.

Something cold and furious settled in Jason's gut at that last one. Someone had stomped on Peter hard enough to leave a boot print.

"You should see the other guys," Peter joked weakly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"I did," Jason replied, his voice low and tight. "None of them look as bad as you do."

Peter reached out, tipping Jason's chin up to meet his eyes. "Hey. I'm okay, Jay. Really."

Jason held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once, sharp and decisive. "Stay put," he ordered, rising to his feet. "I'm getting supplies."

He returned moments later with the first aid kit, ice packs, and a bottle of water. Setting everything on the nightstand, he opened the kit and began methodically laying out what he needed.

"Arms up," he instructed, unrolling an elastic bandage.

Peter complied, lifting his arms slowly, face tight with discomfort. Jason worked quickly but gently, wrapping the bandage around Peter's ribs with practiced efficiency.

"Not too tight?" he asked when he was done.

Peter took an experimental breath. "No, it's good. Thanks."

Jason nodded, then hesitated for a moment before reaching for Peter's suit again. "Let's get the rest of this off and check for more damage."

Peter raised an eyebrow but didn't protest as Jason helped him wriggle out of the lower half of the suit, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. The examination continued, Jason's hands carefully checking Peter's legs for injuries.

There were more bruises—a large one on his right thigh, another on his left hip, a scattering of smaller ones across his knees and shins. Jason's jaw tightened at each new discovery, but he said nothing, just continued his methodical inspection.

When he was satisfied that there were no serious injuries beyond the extensive bruising, Jason sat back on his heels, looking up at Peter with an expression that Peter couldn't quite interpret.

"Verdict, doc?" Peter asked lightly.

Instead of answering, Jason leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to the bruise on Peter's right knee—a feather-light touch, barely there.

Peter went very still. "Jay?"

Jason didn't respond, just moved to the next bruise on Peter's thigh, placing another soft kiss against the discolored skin. His hands came to rest on either side of Peter's knee, steadying himself as he worked his way up, lips grazing over each mark he found.

"You don't have to—" Peter began, but fell silent when Jason looked up at him, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes.

"I want to," Jason said simply, before returning to his task.

There was nothing sexual about it, despite the intimacy of the position. Rather, there was something almost reverent in the way Jason's lips brushed over each bruise—a kind of worship, an apology, a promise.

When he reached the boot print on Peter's abdomen, Jason paused, his breath warm against Peter's skin. His hands came up to frame the bruise, thumbs tracing its edges with a gentleness that made Peter's throat tight.

"I should have been there sooner," Jason murmured, so quietly Peter almost didn't hear him.

"You were exactly where you needed to be," Peter countered, one hand coming to rest on Jason's head, fingers threading through his hair. "If you hadn't taken out their reinforcements, we both would have been a lot worse off."

Jason didn't look convinced, but he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the center of the boot print, lingering there as if he could somehow take the pain into himself. Peter felt something in his chest flutter at the gesture.

"You're remarkable," Jason said against his skin, the words vibrating through Peter's body. "So damn strong, but you don't have to be all the time. Not with me."

Peter swallowed hard, emotion welling up unexpectedly. "I know."

Jason continued his journey upward, lips ghosting over the bruises along Peter's side, across his ribs, up to his chest. With each kiss, he murmured something—words of praise, of admiration, sometimes just Peter's name.

"Beautiful," he whispered against a particularly dark bruise on Peter's collarbone. "Brave," against another on his shoulder. "Mine," against the one on his jaw.

By the time Jason had kissed every visible bruise, Peter's eyes were suspiciously bright, and his hands were trembling slightly where they rested on Jason's shoulders.

"Finished?" he asked, aiming for light and missing by a mile, his voice rough with emotion.

Jason shook his head, rising from his knees to sit beside Peter on the bed. "Missed one," he said, gently turning Peter's face to press a final, tender kiss to the bruise on his jaw.

When he pulled back, he kept his hand on Peter's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "You scared the hell out of me today."

Peter leaned into the touch. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for doing your job," Jason said firmly. "Just... be more careful."

"Says the guy who once jumped off a building because he ran out of bullets and decided grappling onto a moving helicopter was the next best option," Peter retorted, though there was no heat in it.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Jason's mouth. "That was different."

"How?"

"It wasn't you," Jason said simply.

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Peter blinked, momentarily speechless, before a slow smile spread across his face despite the pain it caused.

"Jason Todd," he said, "are you saying you can do reckless things but I can't because you worry about me more than yourself?"

Jason's expression turned defensive. "That's not—"

"Because that's exactly what it sounds like," Peter continued, his smile widening. "That's actually incredibly sweet in a totally messed-up, hypocritical way."

"I'm not sweet," Jason muttered, though he didn't move his hand from Peter's face. "I just don't like seeing you hurt."

"And yet you spent the last ten minutes paying very close attention to all my injuries," Peter pointed out.

"That's different," Jason insisted.

"How?"

"Because," Jason hesitated, clearly struggling to articulate something that wasn't easy for him to put into words. "Because you're alive. Because these are just bruises, not... worse. Because every mark on you is a reminder that you're still here, still breathing."

The amusement faded from Peter's expression, replaced by understanding. He knew about Jason's history, about his death and resurrection, about the scars that went much deeper than skin.

"Come here," Peter said softly, tugging Jason closer until their foreheads touched. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that," Jason replied, his voice rough. "Neither of us can."

"No," Peter agreed, "we can't. But I can promise that I will always do everything in my power to come back to you."

Jason closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly where it rested against Peter's neck. "Good enough, I guess."

Peter smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Jason's lips. "Now, if you're done with your very thorough examination, I could really use a shower and about twelve hours of sleep."

Jason pulled back, reluctance clear in his movements. "Shower, yes. Then I need to check those ribs again and rewrap them."

"So bossy," Peter teased, though he didn't object when Jason helped him to his feet. "Will there be more kisses after?"

"Only if you behave yourself," Jason replied, but the look in his eyes promised that there absolutely would be, regardless.

Peter grinned, wincing only slightly at the pull on his bruised jaw. "I'll try, but no promises. You know how I am when you get all protective and caring."

Jason rolled his eyes, but Peter didn't miss the way his expression softened, the way his hands were gentle as they guided him toward the bathroom. "Yeah, I know exactly how you are. A complete disaster with no self-preservation instincts."

"But I'm your disaster," Peter pointed out cheerfully.

"God help me," Jason muttered, but he was smiling now, the tension from earlier easing from his shoulders. "Yes, you are."

Later, after Peter had showered and Jason had checked and rewrapped his ribs with careful, methodical movements, they lay together in Jason's bed. Peter was tucked against Jason's side, head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Thank you," Peter said quietly into the darkness. "For taking care of me. For the kisses."

Jason's hand, which had been absently stroking through Peter's hair, paused briefly before resuming its motion. "Anytime," he replied, equally soft.

And as Peter drifted toward sleep, body aching but heart full, he found himself thinking that while the bruises would fade by morning—another benefit of enhanced healing—the memory of Jason's lips against his skin, reverent and tender, would stay with him much, much longer.

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koumiyr · 7 days ago

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Hiii, first of all I wanted to tell you I love ECM soooooo muchhh!!!

I also saw that you mentioned that Peter's hair is getting long enough to braid. I wanted to ask if you think he will cut it or maybe adopt the look? And if he does cut it how do you think Jason would react?

Firstly, thank-you!!!! Secondly, he'll definitely get it cut at some point lol. Curly hair stuck under a mask does not make a good combination. Peter's very much the kind of idiot to get the shits one day and just hack at it with scissors. And even as I'm writing this I want to write write it so here you go:

"I'm sick of this!"

Peter wrenched off the mask, infuriated and over-stimulated. Too long. Too long! His hair had got too goddamn long and he was done. It curled and tangled under the mask and worse was starting to show. He scowled at his reflection: the top of his head more closely resembled a rat's nest than a mop of hair.

Time to meet your maker.

With fevered hands, Peter swung open the medicine cabinet and rummaged, raccoon-like for the promised lands. He was not disappointed, and bore up his prize with a manic laugh. His enthusiasm was so great as he slammed the mirror shut that he almost shattered the glass, but the loud clack wasn't enough to break Spider-Man.

Laughing and grumbling to himself in equal measure, Peter hacked at his curls. Frankly, doing it in the suit was a genius move. The neckline was as close against his skin as a barber's apron would have been and all he needed to do was a little shimmy and the locks fell off his body to land in sad piles of brown at his feet.

Getting to the back was tricky and required a fair amount of twisting. And there was a moment that he would take to his grave where Peter attempted to turn around fast enough to catch the back of his reflection, only to realise that no, Spider-Man was not faster than light, and yes, aren't you lucky there were no cameras in the bathroom to catch you doing that.

When he was done, Peter stooped over the shower basin and thoroughly shook his hands through his hair. Tiny shards of brown floated down and Peter was abruptly reminded of Ben who would sometimes forget to clean the sink after shaving. Wow. That was a blast of the past.

"Pete?" A rattle of the door handle. "You've been in there a while, you goo-- Oh."

Peter looked up from his mad scrubbing. Jason stared back, bemused.

"Pete."

"Jace."

"Whatcha... whatcha doing?"

"Son of the world's greatest detective can't figure it out?" Peter straightened up, carding his hands through his hair now to smooth out the curls.

Jason made a strange, pained sound. "You cut yer hair?"

"Duh. It was getting too long."

Jason's light eyes jumped from Peter to the crime scene at his feet. The murder weapon sat tauntingly on the bathroom sink. Then he looked back at Peter.

Peter frowned. "You hate it."

"I don't hate it." The answer was too quick.

"You do."

"It's very...."

"Go on."

"... Okay I'm not gonna lie, Pete. I've no words. Did you have a butcher in the family?"

"I thought you said you had no words. Those are words, Jason. Mean ones."

Jason's eyes were lighting up now with amusement. He was biting his lip, clearly trying to hide a grin. "The truth hurts, Petey. It's atrocious."

In rebellious disbelief, Peter stepped back to look in the mirror and Jason made another pained sound. Peter twisted to glare. "It's not that bad."

"The back of your hair!"

And.... okay. So maybe it was pretty bad. Uneven curls, a fringe too short to the right. Peter ran his hair through the back and -- yep. Uneven there too.

"I... may have made a mistake," he reluctantly admitted.

"You think?"

"Fix it for me?"

"Oh Petey, you don't want me fixing it unless it's with a number eight." Jason stepped closer and brushed his hand over Peter's ravaged hair. "I liked the long hair."

"It was getting inconvenient.. Under the mask."

Jason hummed with defeat. He met Peter's eyes through the mirror and offered a wry smile. "Antonio on second owns a barber. We'll go to him in the morning."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. "Fuck. Fine."

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