FFic: Spidey/Colossus misunderstanding
(Characters are Marvel's. This is merely a fanfiction.)
Since the Stepping Stones story really doesn't have a plot at the moment, here's a piece I'm experimenting as a portion of the next chapter. It's set a few weeks after the last maybe in the first or second week of February. It's probably a little too dark for the tone I've set with first 2 parts, so I may have to either scale back or add more comedy. It was actually funnier when I thought of it than after I started writing it. But mainly because Peter Parker shrieked like a girl when he thought his roommate brought a fifteen year old over to spend the night and Piotr Rasputin threatened to dye Spider-Man's webbing pink for making him think Peter had someone other than his girlfriend stay the night. The other stuff kind of de-evolved the comedic aspects but progresses the storyline some.
Any feedback would be great.
#
Piotr stepped smoothly over the creaky floorboard of the last step of the final flight of stairs, congratulating himself for being so tall, all the while mindful of the neighbor across the hall of his and Peter Parker’s bachelor pad. Mrs. Moglia loved reporting to Peter’s Aunt May. Piotr avoided Mrs. Moglia whenever necessary--which was all the time. She wasn't very nice or friendly. Peter, who was six or seven inches shorter than the giant Russian, never failed to alert the elderly woman to his presence, and the apartment’s only telephone would ring promptly at eight in the mornings whenever May Parker received word of her nephew’s late night out or girls coming in and not leaving till morning.
As Piotr reached his apartment door, his eyebrows tugged downward. The sight of a green shoelace tied to the door knob disturbed him and perplexed him. But Peter had Gwen over last night.
When he had come home the night before to the shoelace, Piotr had dutifully stayed the night in the ratty little motel on the next block over, phoning Peter to ask if Kitty’s letter had arrived and learning that, yes, it had, and that Gwen Stacy, one of Peter Parker’s on-again, off-again girlfriends, was the lucky lady of the evening. She was a petite young blonde woman with wholesome good looks who carried herself with confidence. Piotr thought she was a much better influence that a few of Peter’s other flings.
Incensed that Peter had not bothered to call him either during the day when he was at his construction job or at night during his dish washing job to let Piotr know that was having a girl over, Piotr nearly stormed right in. The idea of what he may or may not see once entering made him balk and rethink his plans for the night.
Piotr hated the motel with a passion. It was filthy, but it was also cheap, and no one asked questions about his Russian accent. And seeing as how many people didn’t like him because of his accent-because his motherland had invaded Afghanistan a year or two back-he stayed there. Fortunately no one could really tell that he and Colossus were one in the same because the metal distorted his features slightly. Mutants were hated and feared right now. He blamed himself more than he blamed Dr. Doom.
The power outages in the east only added fuel to the fire that the anti-mutants activists needed. He and Spider-Man had warrants for their arrests and turning on the news or reading the newspaper was depressing. And the Fantastic Four had been missing since Christmas. One activist group had even accused the mutants of kidnapping famous four.
He sighed heavily and turned to leave, startled when he saw Gwen’s blonde head making her way up the stairs. Are they off again? Blinkingly, he turned and stared at the shoelace round the knob and then back at the young woman just as she made it to the last step. It creaked under her slight weight. He immediately heard shifting in the apartment across the hall.
“Well, hey, there, Petey,” she greeting, giving him a wide smile. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?”
Confused that she would be outside the apartment and not in it, the large Russian forced himself to remain stoic. “Da.” He scooted closer to the door, lest she see the evidence as she moved nearer with each stride. “It has been too long.” Out of nervousness, he put a hand on the back of his neck and rubbed. “I’m well. You?”
“Terrific,” she answered, obviously intent on reaching the door.
He intercepted her. “I was just going out for coffee,” he lied, his palms itching as he spoke. “Care to join me?”
“Actually, I’m here to talk to Peter-“ She was close enough to see the cord, and frowned when she did so. “Is Peter home?”
“Nyet!”
Gwen leveled him with a glare. “Piotr. Truth.”
He gulped, hating that she trusted him, hating Peter for putting him in this predicament, his mind spinning with possible scenarios. One was that he was going slowly torture Peter Parker. “Nyet,” he denied once again, this time more calmly, and, scrunching his face into what he hoped was a sad look and not one of constipation, he proclaimed, “Someone was supposed to meet me tonight, but she didn’t show up.” The look on Gwen’s face showed that she only semi-bought it, so he continued, “I could use a friend to talk to. Peter is at his aunt’s home tonight.”
He inwardly sighed when Gwen’s lips turned down and her expression changed from suspicious to sympathetic. He didn’t let his pout slip.
“Oh, you poor, poor dear!” Gwen exclaimed, wrapping her arm around his and tugging him away, set on cheering the big lug up. “Of course, we can talk. There’s a coffee shop down the street that’s open till three am. They’re on the grid that just became active two nights ago. I’m all ears, sweetie.”
My life is Hell.
At the very least, he was going to mix food coloring into Parker’s web shooters. Pink was always fashionable and the tabloids would have a field day once Peter’s own photos showed the pink webbing.
#
Peter Parker, otherwise known as Spider-Man, swooped down and quickly changed clothing in a deserted alley slipping his street clothes over his red and blue costume and stuffing his gloves and mask into his pockets. Two muggings foiled! He couldn’t wait to develop the film. He wondered what J. Jonah Jameson would say when he saw the pictures and what the headline would be this time. As much as he loved working with Colossus, sometimes a solo act or two helped boost his confidence a little. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t grateful to Piotr for his help. Colossus worked great as both a distraction and a heavy hitter. And in his steel-encased form, he was virtually indestructible. Always an added bonus.
Peter and Piotr avoided the Avengers and Freedom Force like the plague. They were in a rough patch and all-what with the warrants and accusations that they were responsible for the outages. Well, okay, the electrical surge and outages during January were not the best things that could have happened, but at least the world was safe from Doom. Most of the power had been restored and it was only a few more weeks until spring. Puxatawny Phil had not seen his shadow this year.
Peter whistled a tune as he pasted the mailboxes on the first floor, reminding himself that mail didn’t run on Sunday. After spending a relaxing day with his aunt after such a great night with Gwen, plus the foiled muggings and what he knew was going to be great shots, Peter was in a great mood. He all but ran up the stairs.
The good mood turned sour when he spotted Mrs. Moglia standing just outside her door. At one time, the elderly Italian woman may have been attractive to behold. Now though, she was short and plump and wrinkly with frizzy white hair, multiple chins and a large nose on her face.
“Good evening, Mrs. Moglia,” he said as the last step creaked. The old bat only glared at him and haughtily returned to her cave the door clicking softly behind her. “Have a good night, Mrs. Moglia,” he called after her feigning a smile.
The green shoelace on the door surprised him. Since when was Piotr seeing anybody? He’d been writing back and forth with the young X-Man, Shadowcat, for a month and a half now. A thought struck him and his internal voice screamed. Had it been vocalized, it would have sounded extremely girly and feminine.
Piotr, please tell me you don’t have Kitty Pryde in there.
Visions of statutory rape charges danced through his head. He knocked, twice, but there was no answer and he didn’t want to just barge in. There was a working payphone about a block away next to that café he and Gwen sometimes visited. He rushed back down the stairs to phone his and Piotr’s apartment.