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- - -
The rest of the school day went on without a problem - other than the bullshit he usually got from Flash and his meathead buddies. It wasn't until he was on the bus home that things started to go downhill.
First it was the heat spreading across his face, leaving his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, all feeling balmy and flushed. Then it was the aching, first in his muscles, then deeper in his bones, in his joints, throbbing all over his body.
By the time Peter was on his walk home from the bus stop he just felt so drained. The heat had only worsened. It was a crisp spring afternoon in Forest Hills and Peter was sweating.
Nerves. It was just nerves. That's what he told himself. The spider bite was nothing. He was freaking out over nothing.
His heart wasn't pounding as he rounded the corner of his block. His skin wasn't tingling as he moved on down the sidewalk. His legs weren't wobbling as he climbed the steps to his porch. He was fine.
20 Ingram Street. Home.
Peter sighed and pushed on through the doorway. He was fine. Hell, he was even able to crack a smile for May and Ben.
"Hey. Mr. Big Brain is back!" Uncle Ben called out from the dinner table. Strewn out before him were scattered pages lined with his scribbles and notes, along with a half-built toaster - or was it a computer? "How was the field trip? They hire you on the spot or what?"
"It was cool." Peter breathed steadily, making an effort to keep balance as he drew closer. He felt so hot - so why was he shivering? "We got a tour of some of the labs. No job openings though."
"Ah, well. Maybe your buddy Harry can put in a good word for you with his old man." Ben cracked a wry grin then, slapping Peter on the arm. "You impress any of the ladies with your smarts?"
Peter forced a smile, pretending he hadn't almost hadn't gone stumbling then.
"Not yet." He answered, straining to keep an even voice.
"Their loss." Aunt May spoke up as she drew over from the kitchen. Her long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, her apron covered with flour - Peter could smell the baking happening a ways behind her. Homemade bread rolls. No one in Forest Hills made them better. But today, the cozy, welcoming scent didn't bring Peter any comfort.
May noticed.
His aunt frowned, putting the back of her hand to his forehead.
"Woah, Peter! You're burning up! And sweating!"
Peter gently brushed her hand away, drifting towards the stairs.
"Am I? Must have been hot outside."
"It's only sixty-five degrees." May told him.
"You're looking pretty spent, too." Added Ben, now sharing May's visible concern. "You feeling alright, Pete?"
"Yeah. I ran home." Peter felt ridiculous as the lie left his lips. But he was committed now. "Thought I'd get some exercise, that's all. Gotta get in shape for next semester. Gonna try out for the football team."
It was the best Peter could come up with off the top of his head. Ben seemed to buy it. May, not so much.
"Maybe go lie down for a bit. I'll get you some medicine-"
"It's fine. I'm fine." Peter insisted. Or rather, he hoped. "But… maybe I'll go take a little nap."
Yes. A nap. That's all he needed. He would just sleep it off.
May finally seemed placated. By a little bit, at least. Still, the way she was looking at him, with all that worry in her eyes…
Peter gave his aunt and uncle a weak wave and made his way for the stairs.
"Dinner'll be ready in a bit." Uncle Ben called out as Peter started the climb to the second floor. "May's making lasagna and breadsticks."
"Smells great." Peter called back. He was half-lying. May had never once cooked a bad dish for as long as he had lived with her. Today, though, the scent was so strong… Peter almost wanted to throw up.
He was dizzy by the time he reached the top of the stairs. The hallway was shifting and swaying as he walked. Somehow he made it to his bedroom, his hand trembling as he turned the doorknob. With a deep, shuddering sigh, he closed the door behind him, leaning against it.
God… what the hell was happening to him?
More sweat trickled down the back of his neck, dripping off his brow. His hair was matted down now, sticking to his skin. Hot. He felt so damn hot. And he was shivering. Why was he shivering?
Peter tugged off his shirt, his pants. Shoes and socks went next. The air was cool against his bare skin, but it was a sickly sort of cool. Every inch of him felt wrong. Slimy.
The room was spinning now. His world was a blur, not even his glasses could bring clarity.
Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. His legs were so weak, bending beneath him. He went to his knees. The floor came up to meet him.
The teenager groaned. The carpet felt rough against his cheek. He didn't have the strength to move. He was drained, just as Ben had said. Spent. His whole body ached.
Peter closed his eyes and drifted into black.
- - -
There were no dreams. There were no thoughts.
Inside Peter Parker's body, down to the molecule, there was only… change.
- - -
A knock at the door jolted Peter awake. He sat up quickly, aware, alert. More alert than he'd ever felt. Yet his world was still a blur, like it was layered with a thick fog.
…Until his glasses dropped from his face. His vision was clear then. Crystal. Sharp.
Impossible.
But before Peter could even start to dwell on that miracle, May's voice came through the door.
"Peter? You slept for quite a bit. Are you feeling better?"
Peter got to his feet - no more shaky legs. The air was cool on his skin - but pleasant now. No more fever. He took in a breath. Sweet, fresh air filled his lungs.
He felt good.
"I'm fine, May." He went to the door, but stopped himself when he noticed his clothes lying crumpled on the floor. Still in his boxers, he stood by his bedroom door. He noticed the warm light coming in through his window. "How long was I out?"
"You missed dinner. It's morning now. Almost time for your bus. I saved you some lasagna." There was a pause. Peter could hear his aunt shifting on her feet on the other side of the door. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I am. I'm feeling much better."
Peter wasn't lying. In fact… he was lowballing it. He didn't just feel good. He felt damn good. More than good. Peter felt better than he'd ever been. Every nerve ending was awake, alive. Every inch of him buzzing with life. He was on. So much energy welling inside him now. Like he could go on a ten mile run right then and there.
He lifted his arms above his head and stretched. That felt good, too. A pleasant ache ran through his spine, blooming in his joints. So satisfying. He let out a deep sigh.
Next, Peter opened the door a crack, letting May see his face. But just his face.
"I'm perfectly fine, May. Really. I've never felt better." He insisted once more. Just to drive the point home.
Seeing him in the flesh seemed to relieve the woman. She wore a warm smile, all that worry melting away.
"Glad to hear it! Now get ready for school, mister. We don't want you missing the bus."
"Okay. Be right down."
Peter closed the door and waited until he heard May's footsteps trailing down the hall, down the stairs. Then he looked around his room, taking stock.
Sweat-stained clothes were still piled in the corner. His bed was still made, untouched - he had passed out on the floor, hadn't he? Damn, did he sleep like a rock. Peter checked the clock on his desk.
7:06 AM. He'd been out for over twelve hours.
Maybe it was something he ate at school, some undercooked meat or some milk gone bad from the cafeteria. A poisonous spider bite would have been serious. It had to have been something else because today Peter felt great! Spry, limber, but also solid. Vigorous.
Curiosity got the better of him. Peter went to the mirror hanging on his closet door… and blinked in shock.
The guy looking back at him wasn't the guy who came home yesterday. Peter didn't just feel better… he looked better.
Peter blinked a few more times just to be sure his eyes were working - maybe he really did need glasses. But the reflection in front of him remained the same. Even after he turned and twisted, getting looks at the rest of him to make sure it wasn't the mirror playing tricks.
It was real. One hundred percent real.
His body had changed. Big time.
Yesterday, he'd been scrawny, so skinny he could see his own ribs. A stringbean who had to be careful in case Flash Thompson breathed on him too hard.
Today, though… Today there was muscle. Taut, lean, subtle, but definitely there. Packed tight onto his shoulders, his chest, his arms - God, he even had abs now! The lines were faint, but he could see them, especially when he flexed his gut. A six pack. A real six pack. Peter poked them just to be sure… and was stunned by how solid he felt.
He did the same to his new biceps, his pectorals, his shoulders. Peter shook his head, grinning ear to ear. There was hardly any give. Like he was poking solid rock.
Hell, even his jawline looked a little more solid. Defined. He looked less like a kid and more like… a dude.
His eyes dropped below his waist, expecting to admire the same improvements in his thighs and calves… but Peter quickly found himself distracted.
There was a big - major - tent in his boxers.
Morning wood wasn't a surprise, neither was the size - for all the cracks about "Puny" Parker, Peter had never been puny where it counted. Eight inches hard ensured the skinny, bookish teen never felt too insecure through puberty. But looking at it now had Peter fully aware of the hard-on between his legs. Before he'd been distracted, but now he could feel it.
Curiosity reared its head again, compelling the teenager to thumb the waistline of his boxers. Slowly, he eased them down. Down. Down. Revealing more and more of his fat, swollen cock. Peter flinched as he did. It was sensitive, too. The fabric dragging along the shaft had Peter hissing under his breath. Until finally…
The cock sprung free, swaying heavily in place.
Peter let slip a curse. Hanging between his legs was more than eight inches.
That wasn't a dick or even a cock. Sprouting from his groin was a rod. A fucking pipe.
He stared at it, the fat stalk of flesh hanging down. And at the set of full, plump, egg-sized balls hanging just behind it. He stared at the single, fattened vein bulging along the otherwise smooth shaft. He stared at the crown, the cockhead gleaming in dark pink, so engorged with his blood that the foreskin had already peeled back. The slit glistened faintly. Just about ready to leak.
Peter was transfixed. This was the hardest his cock had ever felt. The biggest his cock had ever looked. A foot long, maybe less. He had to be dreaming. He was still passed out on the floor. This was nothing but a fever dream.
Better eyes. Better body. Bigger cock. Too good to be true.
But then Peter touched the shaft, his fingertips drifting along the side. A rush of feeling then. Warmth. Pleasure. Strong, intense enough to make Peter grit his teeth, to make his gut clench. He drew his hand back like his prick was red hot.
"Holy shit." Peter breathed out. His heart was pounding now… and his erection was twitching to match it.
He was awake. Fully awake. And this was fully real.
The near-foot long stalk of swollen meat stretching out from his groin was real. And completely obscene.
There was no way he could go to school like this, Peter realized. He glanced at the clock again. 7:12 AM.
Just barely enough time before the bus.
Peter grabbed a towel from his closet and headed for the shower.