Knock Knock update

“What is it?” Diana asked as he rolled out of bed and ran for the shower. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no!” Peter turned on the freezing water and threw himself under the stream before it had a chance to warm up, letting it scour him clean of the sweat and fluids of last night. He scrubbed himself with a washcloth as well. “It’s not you, nothing to do with you, I just remembered there’s some place I really have to be!”

“What place?” Diana asked, squeezing her thighs together to try and hold onto the sensual feeling that Peter leaving had curtailed. Even if she played with Zatanna, the sudden rejection would keep her from recapturing anything like the ecstasy she had known.

“I can’t explain right now.” Peter flew out of the shower, grabbing a towel and rapidly drying himself with it. Diana turned the shower spray off for him. “Thanks! Stay here as long as you want, do whatever, I will be back as soon as I can—I’m so sorry—you’ve been great, both of you, incredible, but I just have to—”

“sehtolc no!” Zatanna barked, and suddenly Peter was clothed, even his feet socked, his shoelaces neatly tied.

“Thanks!” Peter told her again. That would save time. He’d been worried how much he’d have to waste, throwing on clothes to leave through the front door only to throw them off again to get into his costume and go swinging. “So we’re cool, right?”

“We’re cool,” Diana agreed, but Zatanna was less cordial.

“I don’t know, are we?”

“I swear, I’ll make this up to you,” Peter vowed to them, making his most sincere eye contact with both of them. “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t an absolute emergency and I will explain everything later, but—really—you two are just the coolest, I like you both so much, I want to stay so goddamn much—“

“Go,” Diana told him beatifically. “If anyone understands obligation, it’s us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Zatanna told her, under her breath, Peter unable to hear as he scrambled for where he’d left his costume. “This better be one choice story he comes up with.”

“You really think he would make up an excuse to get out of having sex with us?” Diana asked her.

“Men. Who knows with them?”

Peter, meanwhile, took advantage of their little conference to grab his spare costume out from under his couch. He froze in the doorway, casting one last look at the two women, and was unable to do better than waving goodbye. Diana returned the gesture, but Zatanna did not.

Peter went out the front door and changed in the stairwell. On the bright side, he was mortified enough by how he’d bungled this sure, perfect thing that his erection was nowhere in sight. That was the last thing he needed, going in to fight Magneto with ten inches shoved down the leg of his pants.

***

I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life.

Stuffed into his spider-suit, the memory of his favorite and only threesome still fresh in his head, Peter swung through downtown on autopilot, almost running into a couple buildings, he was so unable to tear his mind away from all that had happened. He actually talked out loud, confident no one could hear him as he flew around at twenty stories, and not really caring if they did.

“They just showed up, they showed up, fell into your lap literally! All you had to do was say ‘no, you know what, one of the other five thousand superheroes in New York can handle it.’ They literally came to your door looking to fuck, Parker! How much of a sure thing can you ask for? And it wasn’t like they turned out to be really into ventriloquist dummies or something. No, they were perfect, perfect, the sex was—geez—I thought sex was sex, but that was sex. And you blew it, webhead. Just so some idiot doesn’t get splattered by a supervillain. Why do people even still live in this city!? Do they not know at this point that a supervillain is going to attack them? The government should just put everyone here on a reservation. Rubber bumpers on the corners, since clearly no one in this city can be trusted with sharp objects, me included!”

Whatever his spider-sense was screaming about, it was coming to a head, and Peter could hear sounds of chaos through his mask. Shouting, screaming, crashes and squealing tires. Ruefully, he was able to cut off his rant by promising himself that whoever had interrupted the best day of his life, they’d be getting beaten within an inch of his life.

He took some small consolation in the fact that the threat was HYDRA. Landing on a water tower overlooking the scene, he could see what looked like a full amphibious battalion supported by hover-jets and mech-walkers emerging from the Hudson, rounding up civilians and moving them into make-shift cages. Oh yeah, he wasn’t going to feel bad about knocking these guys around at all. Imagine if he’d come here with a good head of steam all built up and found out that it was Wanda Maximoff having another mental breakdown?

Now to set up my trusty camera, get a few photos for JJ—though as long as I’m taking pictures, I bet he’d rather I be with Diana and Zee too…

Belatedly Peter realized: he might’ve managed to slip out of his apartment with his secret identity in place and his costume ready to suit up, but his camera was still in the darkroom, right where he’d left it. He wouldn’t even be able to make any money off of getting cock-blocked by Nazis.

Then again, given Jolly Jonah’s creative interpretation of photographic proof of me punching Doc Ock, maybe I should be glad, he reasoned bitterly. Being Otto’s partner in crime, there’s a certain je ne sais quoi there, but heiling-Hitler—that’s just tacky.