SCARLET, SONJA, SPIRAL, SILVER: Chapter 2

The same winter squall that Scott and Betsy were currently seeking shelter from had also hit New York, though with less force than it was bringing to bear on Boston. The rain was pure sleet as it chiseled down onto the Manhattan skyline, darkening the skies well before dusk, its chill seeping inward wherever it could get. 

Thankfully, in the apartment of Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson-Parker, the heater had finally been fixed. It made the bedroom a safe zone of blessedly humid air, the chill from outside taking the edge off, resulting in a perfectly cozy evening for the two lovers. Both rested easy, knowing that the threat of pneumonia was doing a far better job at keeping criminals off the street than Peter could. And the longer the rain lasted, the longer they stayed indoors. Together.

A lightning bolt crashed down from the omnipresent cloud cover, momentarily illuminating the bedroom in stark white light through the glass block windows that took up so much of the east wall. It didn’t wake either of the relaxing couple, but a moment later, rolling thunder brought Peter awake. 

On his side, he stirred to find Mary Jane right where she’d settled after they’d made love, the small spoon to his larger one. His body was curled protectively around her, his left arm under her head to serve as pillow, while his right was draped over her side, hand cupping her breast as if providing one last layer of defense for the heart that pounded inside her warm body. 

Another flash of lightning provided all the light Peter needed to see their ghostly reflections in the window’s one-way glass, a necessity considering their two lines of work. Already luxuriating in the softness of Mary Jane’s gorgeous body, Peter now took in its appearance. He might’ve been surprised to learn he had the same artistic inclinations as Captain America, and now looked at Mary Jane with the same aesthetic appreciation that Steve had regarded Wanda Maximoff with. 

But whereas Steve’s appreciation stopped at simple admiration, Peter’s progressed to a lovelorn nature that would’ve qualified as rose-colored glasses if MJ weren’t so objectively lovely. Where Steve saw only a teammate, Peter saw his wife, his best friend, his trusted confidante—saw the look of mischief waiting behind the eyes that were temporarily shut, the smile that could so easily take possession of her full lips, the light dusting of freckles on her creamy skin that looked so cute and adorable, but would become downright exotic when she was swathed in a passionate sweat.

He had to take a picture. He had to do something more than simply look at her. There was an insistent idea on what that might be from down in his crotch, but Peter was unwilling to wake MJ. She’d lost enough sleep on his account. Instead, Peter recalled that he had never bothered to remove his webshooters as he and she had mutually ripped each other’s clothes off. They often proved useful in the throes of passion. For once thanking his luck, Peter aimed his hand at the camera on the nightstand, curled his fingers, and tapped the contact on his shooter with the slightest amount of pressure. Whisper-quiet, a thin line of webbing thwipped out to snag the camera.

In years to come, the internet would marvel at videos where, thanks to trick photography, multitudinous attempts, or (rarely) skill, someone seemed to be able to make a basket from all the way in the bleachers or manage six bullseyes with six arrows. Without even thinking about it, Peter displayed that same poise now, pulling the camera into the air and easily catching it in that same hand. He aimed the viewfinder at their reflection, marveling at how incredible Mary Jane looked with nothing covering her body but himself and the flannel covers that made this cool room heaven on earth, and he snapped a few pictures of them—hoping that Mary Jane found his muscular body as enthralling as he found hers.

“Try and get my good side,” Mary Jane gently sighed.

Peter kissed her temple. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, babe, it’s my natural reaction to a camera shutter. I can hear one from a mile off.” She smiled. “Want me to do a few poses? Talk about knowing how to do it in my sleep…”

“Nah. How can you improve on perfection?”

“S’easy. I do it every day.”

“Yeah, I hear certain bodily fluids are great for the skin.”

Mary Jane snorted her way into a laugh. “Jesus, Parker! You’ve got a dirty mind. I thought you were a role model.”

“I can think of several twelve-year-olds who would love to be where I am right now.”

“Mmm. There’s a crack about emotional maturity somewhere there, but I’m too lazy to find it. I just wanna stay in bed and have you think about how sexy I am.”

“Oh, you can do that any day. What other thoughts do you think I have?”

“Stupid ones.”

“That’s fair.”

Lightning crashed almost on top of thunder outside, driving Mary Jane a little deeper into Peter’s arms. She laughed at herself a moment later. “Geez, what is this? Global warming? El Nino? The Casket of Ancient Winters?”

“Just that fine New York weather you hear so much about. Daredevil lives for this stuff. Makes his brooding so much more intense.” Peter assumed a worried look. “You know, the Punisher is probably out there somewhere. This is very ‘him’ weather.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Mary Jane gripped him rather intimately. “Crime called on account of weather, remember? No one’s going to rob anything when they can’t step out into the street for five minutes without being frozen solid. Even Frank Castle couldn’t find someone to shoot in this weather.” He responded to her touch, giving her more and more to hold. Mary Jane smiled and added another hand to the mix. “I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter groaned. 

With the gongs of thunder, Peter’s swelling moans, and Mary Jane’s own bated breath, it was easy to miss the doorbell ringing. But it rang again and again, until even Peter had to push Mary Jane aside and vault up from the bed. Grumbling as he hid his webshooters and picked up a robe to throw on.

“If they’re a Jehovah’s Witness,” Mary Jane said, “you have my permission to kill them.”

It was no Jehovah’s Witness. When Peter opened the door, his irritation turned quickly to astonishment. Wanda Maximoff stood on his doorstep, bedecked in a rain slicker, hat, and galoshes that were practically hip waders.

“Mr. Parker. I’m sorry for intruding. I really must speak to you.”

Peter was torn between inviting the Scarlet Witch in out of the rain—geez, what would it take to drive an Avenger out into this weather—and lingering memories of exactly what he and MJ had been doing until oh-so-very recently. “Yeah—I—this isn’t a great time.”

“It’s urgent. It can’t wait.”

Peter bit back a rejoinder; between his legs, something sure felt urgent enough for him. “Look, thanks for saving the world all those times, but if it was that urgent, couldn’t you phone? Five minutes, okay—five…”

Wanda pushed her way in. For such a demure woman, she sure could be assertive when she wanted to be. 

Peter closed the door behind her. He really should’ve gotten used to these impositions by now. “Let me guess. The other day, I accidentally took a picture of the Holy Grail and we need to go find it. I went to high school with the Antichrist and now you need me to talk to him man-to-man. The last time I went to Blockbuster, I accidentally rented The Protocols of the Elders of Zion…”

“This isn’t the time for levity,” Wanda said, though she hid a smile. With a quick gesture, her weather-appropriate attire disappeared in a burst of smoke and light. The next moment, she was wearing the skirt and cape and bustier she usually had on. 

Peter’s erection, which had been flagging, now surged back to life. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

“Yes,” Wanda answered. With another gesture, the coffee table burst into flame.

“Hey! Do you know how many hours I spent assembling that?”

“Relax. It’s not that kind of fire.” Wanda sat to warm her hands on the fire.

“Not that kind of…” Peter took a closer look at the coffee table and saw that, like the famous bush, it was burning without being burnt. “Geez. And Mary Jane gets on me when I don’t use coasters.”

Speak of the devil: Mary Jane came in, wearing a lace negligee under a fur coat. Peter had to hand it to her—even throwing on an outfit to do nothing more than keep from flashing a house guest, she had style.

“I am either taking my husband back to bed or I am taking a piece of him back to bed, depending entirely on—Peter, the coffee table’s on fire.”

“It’s fine, I think.” Peter held his hand out and found that the flames didn’t singe his fingers either. “It’s a cool fire.”

“That’s nice. Now remember me? Your wife? Our love for each other? The next ten minutes of our love for each other?”

Wanda waved slightly. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Mary Jane parroted back. “Oh. You’re an Avenger.”

“For a while now,” Wanda said. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I need your husband’s help.”

“My husband the photographer? What do you need him for, a Maxim shoot?” Then, under her breath, Mary Jane added “You’re dressed for it…”

Wanda grimaced unhappily. She could sense she wasn’t making a good first impression. “I know the truth about Peter. And I need Spider-Man.”

Mary Jane threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! If it’s not SHIELD asking for help and it’s not Daredevil and it’s not the Human Torch, it’s Little Miss Avengers? You can’t ask one of the other forty superheroes on the payroll to help out? It has to be my husband? Look at the weather out there—his suit’s not even waterproof!”

“It has to be him,” Wanda insisted. “He’s the only one.”

Peter held up a consoling hand to Mary Jane. “MJ, let’s hear her out. I’m sure she wouldn’t go to all this trouble if it weren’t important. Why don’t you go get some rest, I’ll go get this over with, and we’ll be a cuddle puddle again before you know it.”

This was one of those times where someone trying to soothe her only pissed Mary Jane off more. Where was all this diplomacy when Peter was telling Scarlet Witch to take a hike, anyway? “’Get this over with’? What does she even need you for, huh?”

“I need him to make love to me,” Wanda said.

Thunder came down on the city like a hammer, almost managing to shout down the voices that now filled the Parkers’ apartment.