CHAPTER 24
THE BEETLE

18+ warning: mentions of smut.

SLOANE HAD LEFT Peter's apartment feeling a mixture of uneasiness and pleasure. Peter had suggested they investigate the bar in Woodside tomorrow night, which made a bubble of anxiety burst in her stomach. Even when she was back at the penthouse, nestled in the sheets of her bed, she felt nothing but apprehension. Especially knowing that Everett was sleeping under the same roof – if he was even sleeping at all.

The pleasure part, however ... Sloane might've gotten fucked one last time before she left Peter's loving embrace. Somehow, even the memory of that didn't comfort her as she struggled to fall asleep.

She woke up later than expected. Sometime between the times of 1 AM and 3 AM, Sloane had to have fallen asleep, but she still woke up groggily at 10. Her headphones were in her ears, the cord tangled in her hair. Her phone buzzed. Sloane groaned and unplugged the cord, flipping her phone over to see who had texted her.

It was Peter. He wished her good morning. He said he missed her.

Sloane had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? She typed back, quoting one of her favorite lines from Gandalf in Lord of the Rings. His response came only seconds later.

PETER PARKER: Marry me right now

She had sighed, knowing it was a joke. But the prospect still made her heart sink a little. They spent the rest of the day texting as Sloane wrote more of her article. Peter continued to ask if she wanted to come over earlier, and she reminded him at least ten times that finishing her work had to be a priority over fucking. Even though her core throbbed at the thought of him exploring her again. Nevertheless, he didn't have to wait that long to see her again. After having a fairly quiet dinner at the penthouse, she was back at his apartment promptly at 9 PM. He buzzed her in and swung the door open as soon as she knocked.

Raising her hands in surrender, she said, "I know you really wanted me over earlier, but I just –"

Peter locked a hand around her waist and pulled her against his chest, crushing his lips onto hers. Sloane instinctively reached up and twirled one strand of his hair, while the other hung limp at her side. The kiss was over as soon as it started, and he leaned back to say, "Hi."

"Hi," she replied. Her voice was softer than usual, as if he'd stolen it right out of her.

Looking down, she noticed he was wearing an old black leather jacket, a crewneck with a quote from Darth Vader on the front, Levi jeans, and battered Adidas. No glasses tonight. His outfit was similar to her own: she was also wearing her leather jacket, a Carhartt hoodie, jeans, and high-top black Converse.

Peter grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door. "Ready to go?" He slipped both phones into the inner pockets of his jacket. "I have my bike parked out front."

"No Uber or taxi?" She asked, slipping her hand into his as they walked down the smelly corridor. He nodded at her question. "Ugh, I've never been happier."

Sloane had never thought of Peter as the motorcycle type, but she supposed there was a first time for anything. She wondered where he could've parked it out front though, because she hadn't seen a motorcycle when the taxi dropped her off. As she walked out into the freezing air, she knew why she hadn't recognized it.

He had a scooter motorcycle.

"Peter," she said, hands on her hips as he yanked his helmet out. "That's a scooter."

He looked back at her, brows pulled together. "Some people call it a bike."

"Like who?"

"Real motorcyclists." He hopped on the seat.

Sloane didn't move an inch. "Is this even supposed to fit two people?"

"Well, no. But if we squeeze, I imagine we can both fit." He held a helmet out to her.

"This probably only goes forty miles per hour!"

"It goes sixty-five, thank you very much." He wiggled the helmet again, urging her to take it.

With a scoff, she snagged the helmet and placed it on top of her head. This would surely ruin the braid she delicately wound her hair into. Peter slid forward a little, and Sloane jumped on the end, lacing her arms around his toned midsection. Her chin fit right in the area between his shoulder and neck, and she smelled his cologne again.

"Ready?" He asked, and she nodded her confirmation. Placing the key in, Peter then pressed the start button while holding onto one of the brake levers. The ignition started, and only a second later, they were speeding down through traffic.

━━━━━━

Peter ended up having to park his scoot – bike on the street almost a block away from the bar. They circled the old building a few times and found no open spots, not even a parking lot to pull into. The dive bar had a line of people anxiously waiting to get in. As they walked over to where the line ended, Sloane zipped her leather jacket up to her chin to brave against the chilly air, but it was Peter's hand laced with her own that provided the most warmth. She quietly commended the girls in line that didn't wear a jacket in this weather, careful not to mess up their outfits. That took a lot of strength she didn't have.

Looking over the shoulder of the short girl in front of her, Sloane scanned all the faces that were waiting in line. They all looked fairly young: late teens to early twenties. Sloane and Peter were probably the oldest in the crowd. She squinted her eyes at the bouncer up ahead. A group of girls walked out, so he let another group in. And he didn't card them.

She turned to Peter. "I don't think there's a carding system here."

"So just anyone can walk in here," he said, looking ahead, "especially teenagers."

It took about twenty-five minutes of standing in the cold, but eventually, they got to the front. Sure enough, there was no carding system. The bouncer looked Peter and Sloane up and down before saying, "Together?" They nodded quickly, and the bouncer nodded his head towards the door. "Go in."

Peter and Sloane shared a look before pushing the door open. The place was a total dive, with cobwebs on the ceiling and a trail of puke leading toward the restrooms. The drink menu over the bar had three beers listed: Bud Light, Miller Lite, and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Small tables littered the dirty floor, but in the corner, there was a light-up rainbow dance floor in front of an old jukebox.

They could do nothing but stare and wonder what they had gotten themselves into for a few seconds. The bar was packed wall to wall with people – all young. Some looked like they had only just started college this fall. A girl walked by Sloane holding two shots, screaming at her friends, and Sloane had to swallow hard to keep herself in check. There were people at the bar doing shots too. God, she could use one right now too. Just to keep her anxiety in check. Just to focus.

But she couldn't. She needed to stay sober and be fully aware of her surroundings tonight in case the Jawbreaker showed. Because one shot always turned into two shots, and that turned into three, and so on. She wanted one so bad though. Even just a cocktail, heavy on the vodka.

A table opened up near the bar, so Peter took her hand and led her over to it. They hopped up on the stools and Sloane had to inspect her cuticles just to not stare at all the alcohol pouring around her.

"You're fidgeting."

She lifted her head and shouted, "What?"

"I said, 'you're fidgeting!'" He replied over the loud music. "What's wrong?"

The smile she gave him was fake and wary. "Nothing!" She stopped looking at her cuticles and began to drum her fingers against the table. "What are we supposed to be doing anyways?"

"Just watching," he said, scanning the crowded bar. "Staking out the place."

Sloane sighed. She took one look at the table beside theirs and watched a group of friends do tequila shots, and she swallowed hard again. Turning back to Peter, she watched him evaluate the room. She rolled her eyes.

"Peter," she called out, and he looked over his shoulder, "we look like cops just sitting here with no drinks."

"Why does it matter?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "There's nothing worse than looking like a cop at a bar. Especially, when you're searching for a criminal." Her mouth lifted to one side. "Trust me, I've done a few stakeouts in my day."

Peter exhaled heavily. "We can't get drunk right now, Sloane."

Getting up from her seat, she swiped two drinks waiting idly at the bar and placed them in front of him. They looked like vodka cranberries. "One drink won't hurt, Parker." She grabbed his face with two fingers and squished it.

"Fine," he said with a roll of his eyes. "What the hell, right?"

They clinked their glasses together before taking a sip. And by sip, I mean they both downed half their drinks in one go. Sloane giggled when some spilled over the side of her mouth, and Peter rubbed it away with his thumb. The vodka was especially strong in these drinks. She could hardly taste the cranberry juice. Just the way she liked it.

Sloane wasn't sure if it was the obscene amount of alcohol in this one drink, the fact she forgot to drink a lot of water today, or the bright lights encompassing this shitty dance bar, but she suddenly understood why everyone was having a fantastic time. The drinks were good, the music was fun, but the vibes were even better. This was a college girls' paradise, which explained why so many were here right now.

The beat pounding out of the speakers switched. A boy at the jukebox turned, celebrating with his friends as the smooth guitar riffs of Fleetwood Mac's Dreams shifted to the sultry rhythm of Criminal by Fiona Apple. Sloane shook Peter's arms. "I love this song," she said excitedly, and then finished the rest of her drink. "We have to dance!"

Peter winced. "I don't know about th – WOAH!"

Sloane took him by the wrist and swung him onto the dance floor, similar to how he always caught her off guard by soaring into the air at light speed. She led him into the throng of people, spinning him around with her hand. Peter looked somewhat annoyed at first, but the happiness on her face had his expression lighting up. He then twirled her around before pressing her back against his rigid chest. Sloane grinned big, raising her hands in the air towards the disco ball as his own held her hips close.

They moved together in tandem, and Sloane shouted the lyrics at the top of her lungs. Peter's laughter vibrated in her ear and she – oh. He was already half-hard in his jeans. Sloane's smile went cat-like. She deliberately ground her ass against his semi-hard cock, feeling it stiffen even more against the rough denim of his jeans. Peter groaned before pressing a kiss to the back of her ear. As they danced, he lifted one hand from her hip to graze her collarbone, and even through her thick sweatshirt, his touch sent an electric fire through her, reverberating to her core. His cock pressed against the restrained jeans, his hand all but now caressing her nipples through her hoodie – fuck, she was already soaked, absolutely needy for him.

He whispered into her ear, "Can I take you up on that offer you made Spider-Man?" It wasn't so much a question, more like a plea. His voice was raspy and made her whole body quake.

"And what offer is that?" She asked, adding a laugh at the end.

"The one where we go to the bathroom and I fuck your brains out."

Sloane's face turned to the side so he could kiss her from behind, and she practically moaned in his mouth. Her brain was clouded with alcohol and lust. Sloane was like putty in his hands. She was so turned on right now that her nipples were as hard as his cock. But her mewls against his lips were drowned out by the drunk people around them singing the last bit of lyrics to Criminal.

The honeymoon phase truly turned you into someone else.

"Peter," she moaned softly, "I think I'm going to implode. I need you inside me right now."

Peter leaned back slightly, realization dawning on him. "Wait, those bathrooms are probably really fucking gross, right?"

Sloane blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

"I'm just wondering if maybe we should go back to my place and continue this stakeout tomorrow."

"Peter." She swung her head to look forward, irritated with his response. "I cannot wait to get to your –"

Sloane's eyes connected with something in the corner of the bar, and the words fizzled out on her tongue. It was like a freezing-cold bucket of ice water was poured on her. She could see the darkened silhouette of a tall figure, leaning between the doors to the men's room and the kitchen. She couldn't see their face, only a manly, tall build. Although, everyone seemed tall to her. The person still looked like a tower, and she could just see that they were wearing a black zip-up hoodie, jeans with grass stains, and black combat boots. Expensive ones. They were staring at a drunk girl sloppily fall into her friends' arms, singing the lyrics to the new song blasting through the speakers.

"Actually, maybe now isn't the time," she muttered, stepping forward. "I have a strange-looking person in my sight."

"What?" Peter's head flew up as Sloane began walking through the crowd. He followed her closely, shouting, "Wait!" His hand found her own, but she didn't stop pushing through the horde of people.

Sloane was looking forward, staring right at the figure. It had to be the person at the skate park that came at her. It had to be. She squeezed past other drunk people. The figure's head spun in her direction, and Sloane froze in place. She felt Peter bump into her back, but she was still stunned, unable to move her feet.

"Excuse me!" A drunk boy shouted at her, almost spilling his tequila sunrise on her shoes.

Sloane was brought out of her stupor and moved out of the way. But when she viewed up at the figure again, they were gone.

She cursed under her breath, "What the fu –"

Looking to her right, she found them dashing out of the entrance, almost body-slamming into the bouncer. Sloane turned to Peter, pointing to the doors, and tugged on his hand hard before following the figure out.

The person sprinted past the long line of people still waiting to get in, and they followed several feet behind. They were going in the direction of where Peter parked his scooter. Sloane was already getting winded. Her pace slowed, and Peter took the lead in front of her. Heaving, Sloane did her best to follow. But the slower she got, the more distance was between her and the figure.

Up ahead, the engine of a vintage Volkswagen Beetle roared to life. Its headlights were bright – so bright that it had Sloane halting her footsteps, putting a hand in front of her eyes. Peter didn't hear her behind him anymore, and he stopped, coming to her aid. "I'm fine," she assured him, and when they both looked ahead, they saw the figure throwing themselves in the backseat of the Beetle.

"We can't lose them," she told him. "Your bike is just a little further down."

As they sprinted forward, the Beetle zoomed past them. They reached the scooter just a few moments later, and Sloane wondered if it was too late. She hunched forward and took a few breaths as Peter revved the motor. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she put on her helmet and hopped on the scooter behind him. Peter flipped the visor down before taking off down the empty street.

The scooter's speed increased to 40 in a blink, and somehow, that was enough to get closer to the Beetle. The speed limit on these streets was 30 anyway. Peter revved the engine, pressed further on the gas, and now they were going 60. Sloane was used to speeding on highways (... or when she was a little too drunk on her way to work). But there was something totally different about going 60 on a bike with the wind blasting against your helmet visor. She had to close her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they were now just feet away from the Beetle.

"How are you gonna stop them?" She shouted.

Peter quickly lifted his sleeve to show the web shooter on his wrist. "I got it covered!"

The Beetle took a sharp left turn at a red light. Thankfully, the intersection was empty, but Peter still hesitated. "Let's go!" She told him, squeezing his torso.

Peter shook his head and continued taking the left. "It's against the law!"

"Fuck the law right now, Peter!" She said over the wind. "Follow that Beetle!"

The car was even further now, but Peter caught up by going to the limit of his scooter's abilities. The Beetle took a right. The person in the driver's seat looked back for a second, seeing how close they were. Peter waved at them, but that did nothing to slow them down. They drove through another intersection, and a van almost drove straight into them. They swerved, crossing the intersection, but Peter stopped as the van went by. Lifting his sleeve again, he held out his arm attempting to cast a web and haul it back. But the web couldn't reach that far away, and the Beetle was getting farther and farther.

"Fuck," he said under his breath, and it sent a chill through her.

They took off straight, gaining speed on the vintage car. Peter had to dodge a few trash cans in the road, but they were getting closer to the Beetle again. The streets were getting darker and harder to see. If they didn't stop that car now, they wouldn't be able to see it in a few minutes. Sloane hit his shoulder and yelled, "Use the web shooter now!"

With one hand on the handles, trying to steer, his other hand reached out. Peter's fingers formed to cast the web. His middle finger pressed down on the button at his palm, and within seconds, the web shot out.

But the Beetle had already swerved down an alleyway.

Peter, caught off guard, stopped short. Sloane almost fell off the scooter with him. His webbing was stuck to a trash can, causing the metal can to fly through the air and over their heads. As the webbing flaked off, the can rolled into the intersection, bumping against the sidewalk. Adjusting her helmet, Sloane looked to her right and down the empty alley. It split off in two directions at the end, heading back out onto the city streets.

"Peter," she muttered gloomily, "the Beetle's gone."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was almost like a pallet cleanser after last chapter LMAO. I think I've discovered that I secretly love writing car chase scenes ?? this chapter was SO FUN. I hope you guys enjoyed!!! 🫶