hey do you remember when; peter/mj (bnd); dude i don't think this is even r
Peter has no idea why he let Harry talk him into drinking. Oh, wait, that's right -- he didn't. He just forgot to ask for a detailed list of ingredients in the very fruity, very tangy drinks Harry and Lily kept handing him, and before he knew it the kick caught up with him all at once and now, well, now he's pressed up against the (closed) bathroom door, held there by someone who looks a whole lot like Mary Jane.
Wait.
It is Mary Jane.
(Old time's sake, a drunken murmur in his ear, and with the haunted sadness in her eyes, in his heart, he couldn't have said no even if sober.)
Well, that's good, says a voice in his mind, but it isn't, actually, it's really bad because MJ's supposed to hate him even if he can't quite, at this moment, remember -- oh -- oh, okay, the why wasn't important anyway, he doesn't need to remember why when her mouth's at his neck like that and her hands are unzipping his fly and--
Wait, is he wearing his costume?
Um, he tries to say, as part of um hold on a second, only it comes out, "Uh-- mmmmm," and he doesn't bother trying again.
Doesn't matter anyway. It's MJ.
That's exactly why it matters! he yells back at himself in his mind, and then he realises he is talking to himself while a very hot woman is, quite literally, in his pants, and he always knew he was crazy.
"Cold out there, Tiger?"
Wait, what? "Wait, what?"
She gives him that look, that one he remembers so well, the one that says listen tiger i know you're a crazy genius or whatever but try and follow the normal person logic for a second here. Somehow, it doesn't suffer in the slightest for her being as wasted as him. In fact, drunkenness seems to accentuate it. Accentuate it really well. Makes her even hotter. He has to lean forward and kiss her again, and tug her shirt up so he can unhook her bra because she's wearing too many clothes, only she pulls back and gives him the look again and says, bemused, "Asked you a question."
"Huh? Oh-- oh," he says, glancing down to where her hands are scrunched in something. Spider something. Costume, right, costume. Crap. "Oh--"
"Because, long underwear? Never okay. Just because I'm not around anymore doesn't mean you get to slack off in the fashion department."
Long underwear. He could laugh, but her hands are moving again and he's kissing her again and he's already forgotten why he'd be laughing anyway. Then he isn't kissing her because her mouth's suddenly much lower and he's still forgotten pretty much everything except that this-- this-- God, this feels so right that he doesn't think he'll ever know why it stopped in the first place.