Marvel Nights - Spider-Man Ch. 01

Author's Note: Trying a hand at erotic fanfiction here. Spider-Man belongs to Marvel. (And Disney. And Sony.) This is a free use of the character for parody/satire. All characters are of legal age.

*******

SPIDER-MAN

I'm sprinting across the rooftop at my full speed. The New York skyline around me starts to blur as I run faster than the getaway car speeding down the streets below me. I point in front of me with my middle fingers double tapping the small pressure pad in my glove, and with a flick of my wrist - THWIP!

A long thin line of pressurized web fluid shoots out of the mechanical spinneret around my wrist, and the adhesive strand zips ahead of me to latch onto the edge of the rooftop. I give the webbing a super-strong tug, jerking myself forward with extra momentum, as my powerful leg muscles launch me straight ahead off the ledge. I press my arms against my sides, streamlining my body as I dive out into open space like a lawn dart.

I feel the wind rushing past me as I become a living projectile. My eyes are protected from the biting wind and the glare of the sun by special polarized lenses. Time slows down as the adrenaline spikes my reflexes, giving me plenty of time to mentally count the seconds of my fall while also calculating physics and trigonometry figures in my head (multiplying kinetic energy by gravity and inertia, boring stuff like that). I reach up and fire off another web line at the side of the building, my body spiraling and twirling gracefully as I swing like a pendulum.

A red LED light flashes at my wrist with a beep. Its my dominant hand, I lead with it when I'm swinging around, so the cartridge always runs low on web fluid first right when I'm soaring above pavement.

That's the Parker luck, chuck.

Letting go of the web-line when I reach the apex of the swing, I let my momentum carry me forward ahead of the car swerving around beneath me. There are too many obstacles for them to maneuver properly, so I've already overtaken them. A quick web-zip and I'm running along the side of the building, the soles of my feat adhering to the wall through Van der Waals force (or stick-'em powers, for you non-science nerds). Leaping over balconies and fire escapes like some new sort of perpendicular parkour.

Diving diagonally off the wall, I plummet towards the car. My feet slam through the glass, smashing my heels into the jaw of the thug driving, knocking his cowboy hat off. We hit a pole and the airbags pop.

The four of us all pile out of the old sedan like its a clown car. I immediately see Montana holding his jaw, its probably broken. True to form, he draws a revolver and a bullwhip. Matching him with my own quickdraw, a sticky glob of webbing slings out to cover his hand with the goop, neutralizing the firearm.

"Come on Montana, do you pack a six-shooter just so you don't lose count of how many bullets until you need to reload or something?" I quip as a familiar tingle buzzes in the back of my skull. I lose focus for a second, a stream of sensory information overloading my brain as I become hyper-aware of every movement around me through vibrations in the air. Time slows down as I duck a whip crack. "I mean really. I've fought Dr. Doom. The guy has all kinds of lasers and missiles crammed into his undies, and you're using tech from the Old West? Get with the times, man."

I didn't really need to doge the sloppy haymaker that Ox is sending my way, in fact if took it it could probably break his hand. When I'm fighting for my life, the spidey sense helps me get out of the way by pure instinct.

"Miss me, miss me!" I crow as a slight turn of my head eludes his flailing attacks by inches. I slap a small disc on his back as he rushes me, slamming into Montana like a linebacker. The gadget detonates, shooting a web line against the streetlight above him that reels in rapidly, sending the big brute flying and dangling helplessly from a thread.

"Two Enforcers down, one to go..." I mutter under my breath.

Fancy Dan the Ladies Man had mostly been preening, slicking his hair back into place as he stumbled away from the brawl with a fast food sack full of money. I sling a web to his ankles, tripping him and sending him splashing face first into a puddle.

"Oh no, Danny boy! I ruined your zoot suit! I doubt you'll afford a new one knocking over burger joints" I pick up the bag of money and toss it to New York's finest. They do their usual routine of telling me to freeze and trying to arrest me as I exit stage left with a vertical leap that would put Batroc to shame. It would be a bad idea to stay around and chat, or else one of them might recognize Spider-Man's voice as being a little bit too similar to one of the geeks down in the crime lab.

The Amazing Spider-Man. Saving the world, one petty robbery at a time.

***********

MARY JANE

Peter doesn't like it when I smoke. I mostly quit back in high school, but every once in a while I need a joint to calm my nerves. Heck, when your husband is fighting for his life against monsters and serial killers every night, what's a girl supposed to do? Sit here and worry?

That's never been my style. For years, MJ was the life of the party. My face was smiling, my body was moving to the music, but inside I was crying. I never showed a sign that I was hurting. I like to look at it as good practice, since my big television break was playing an airhead bimbo on Secret Hospital.

I watched my mother waste away to an empty shell trying to salvage her ruined marriage to an abusive husband, then watched the same thing happen to my sister. I...I felt guilty for abandoning them. I wasn't going to give up on my dreams, or let anybody tie me down. I was going to run away to the Big Apple, become a model or an actress, and marry my Prince Charming!

Its funny, it sounds like a naïve unattainable goal, but it pretty much happened just how I envisioned it. And I felt bad for being happy. Bad because I became well off and semi-famous while my sister struggled to make ends meet, bad because my friend Gwen died and I was finally free to sleep with her brown-eyed hunk of a boyfriend, bad because I had to pretend that I didn't know why Peter disappeared every time Spider-Man was needed to save the city way before he finally told me his secret identity.

Peter helped me with all that. He's dealt with a lot of guilt too, and had to wear more than one kind of mask in public. He likes to tell me that I'm his hero, which is silly of course.

I hear the chime of the front door opening. I desperately try to wave away the scented smoke. MJ's was a trendy upscale boutique in SoHo, but weed wasn't legal here yet. It would be deliciously ironic, I suppose, if Spider-Man had to show up and help arrest his own wife.

"Hey there, Red..." purred a silky, familiar voice.

*********

SPIDER-MAN

Swinging across Midtown, I by the Daily Bugle building on my way down to pick up MJ. I'm not exactly a nostalgic person, but every once in a while I like to take a minute and reflect on things.

It was hard to hold down a steady job as a high school kid, and even harder to pay the bills as a super-hero. Well, for superheroes that aren't billionaire playboys, I guess. There were plenty of times Aunt May and I were one bad payday away from moving in with the Morlocks and Ninja Turtles. As a freelance photographer, it was easy to get great shots of superhero battles when you're already going to be there anyway. I may have been a scrawny nerd back in high school, but in journalist circles I was considered a badass. Or just lucky.

Its weird that I miss working here. At the time, I kind of felt a sense of embarrassment born of fragile machismo that my wife was the breadwinner of our family. Back when I first got my powers, I tried to use my newfound strength and agility to make some money as a pro wrestler. Unfortunately, "Spider-Man" can't exactly cash checks, and Wilson Fisk eventually bought for the rights to my likeness, the jerk. I've delivered pizza, but got fired form that very quickly - it turns out the pies don't travel well. In grad school I got a job helping Dr. Connors as his assistant. A few times I've managed to hit the big time as a researcher for tech companies like Tricorp, Stark, and Horizon, even my own startup but that didn't work out. I got a job at my old High School as a science teacher, where I had to call in sick twice a week. It always came crashing down, and here I would be at square one all over again - selling blurry shots of Spider-Man's ass for Jonah's editorials and occasionally writing science articles for Joe Robertson.

The Bugle had fallen on hard times. Jonah was a little slow to embrace the digital age, and his scathingly critical coverage of superheroes in the new age of marvels had damaged his credibility. A buyout lead to a lame rebranding as "The DB!" (look, you don't need me to make the joke, ok?) which pretty much killed it. I heard Robbie and some of the others have tried restarting as "Frontline News" or something like that.

Right now, Jonah's hosting a talk show and getting ready to run for mayor. Not sure how I feel about that. JJ has a notorious temper that and hates all superheroes except for Captain America - and hates me most of all, although he doesn't know I'm Spider-Man. The dude even bankrolled supervillains like Spider Slayer and the Scorpion to come after me back in the day. But deep down (like, Marianas Trench deep) he's a big softie and a man of integrity; he took care of me when I was young and desperate, and years later even helped pay for my wedding.

If Jonah becomes the mayor, the first thing he's going to do is organize an "Anti-Vigilante Task Force" and send them after me. Which is going to be akward, since I work in the Police Department's CSU now.

*********

MARY JANE

I felt a little apprehensive watching her saunter into my shop. Her lowcut blouse had a plunging neckline, showing off ample cleavage. I have a pretty nice rack, if I do say so myself, but she was at least a cupsize bigger. Her mane of platinum blonde hair was wild and artfully tussled. Her miniskirt ended way above her smooth thighs, showing off lots of leg. The sexy bitch even had a Marilyn Monroe-style beauty mark.

Felicia Hardy, AKA the Black Cat, AKA Most of my insecurities rolled up into one person. Felicia was Peter's gorgeous superpowered ex girlfriend. Peter gets a little uncomfortable telling me about it, but the two of them would fuck like rabbits. In costume, too. They broke up when Peter tried to open up to her and found out that she was more in love with "Spider-Man" as an idea. Pretty shallow, but she got to share with Peter a part of his double life that I was for the most part denied. The Black Cat wasn't a screaming damsel in distress like I was.

My eyes went up and down her body, covertly checking out her strut as she made her way over to me. She noticed, and raised and eyebrow.

"Enjoying some eye candy?" she teased, her hand on her hip.

I rolled my eyes. "How can I not, when you give it all away for free." Sometimes Peter's comedy rubs off on me. She threw her head back and laughed at that, which make her chest move in interesting ways.

Felicia and I used to have a frostier relationship. Even though she pretty much dumped Peter, finding out about me sparked some psychotic jealousy. We all managed to work things out, I guess. Felicia is now a private detective with Heroes For Hire and she only occasionally tries to break up my marriage.

"So what's up?" I ask. "Business...?" I ask a little nervous. If somebody in the superhero community would come give me any bad news about Spider-Man, it would probably be either Felicia or Johnny Storm.

She shook her head. "No. Well, not super business, anyways. You opened up a fashion shop, right? I'm looking for a new outfit."

I tilted my head, studying her now with a more professional eye. "Hmm. Something in back."

******

SPIDER-MAN

As I'm swinging downtown one-handed, I notice some movement in the alley across from me. A figure retreating into the shadows. Usually not a good sign, so I guess I better swing over and say Hi.

Two seconds after my feet touch the ground I see the danger heading my way. My spider sense doesn't warn me of the incoming attack, which can only mean one thing: Venom.

Venom was a combination of two things. The first one was Eddie Brock. He was a reporter, and when I was at the Bugle the two of us were like sitcom rivals for a while. His big break came when he got a scoop on a serial killer that turned out to be wrong when I caught the real guy. It happens sometimes, but Eddie had a lot of baggage and demons in his personal lifer. He let the disgrace spiral out of control: he lost his job, his marriage, his house, everything, and then if that wasn't enough the poor guy gets diagnosed with freaking cancer. People with depression need to seek help when they feel suicidal thoughts like Eddie was dealing with, there's no shame in reaching out. Instead, Eddie walked into St. Patrick's Cathedral to give his last confession before killing himself.

Venom's second component was the Black Suit. I picked it up during an adventure in outer space, but I just thought it was a costume made of some sweet alien fabric. I didn't realize it was a living organism that bonded to me. Reed Richards and I have developed a hypothesis about the evolution of the symbiote; adapted to a harsh alien environment, it will attach itself to a host and transform that organism into an apex predator. Once I realized that the suit was alive and subtly altering my behavior in certain ways (specifically heightening my aggression, selfishness, and other negative traits), I tried to remove it. It fought back, and while wrestling for control of my body I ran face first into the bell atop St. Patrick's Cathedral in an attempt to dislodge the body snatcher. Worked out pretty good, except for the part where the goop dripped down onto a man who at that moment hated me more than anything else in the world.

The form looming above me was a Lovecraftian horror. The blob of inky black slime cascading down the wall puddled on the pavement. The thing quivered and coalesced before metamorphosing into a mass of writhing tentacles and extra mouths showing off rows of jagged fangs.

Damn nature, you scary!

Grabbing the heavy dumpster, I fling it at the monster's...well, not exactly its face. Its general direction, I guess. It splats hard against the brick wall, the viscous symbiote slithering out from under and reforming. That's when I realize that Venom was missing one of his critical parts. Eddie cuts an impressive figure, and this was more amorphous. The symbiote was an invertebrate and could shapeshift, almost like a mimic octopus. The thing was shambling towards me in pale two-dimensional imitation of humanoid form, wobbling on spindly legs and reaching out with a hand that had fingers too long. I wonder if it had spent so long bonded to humans that it preferred that form to its own original shape, if it had one.

Springing into the air and performing an acrobatic backflip, shooting a web strand behind me. I land in a crouch on the brick wall behind me. The symbiote wasn't bonded to Eddie right now, which meant it was looking for a new host. I couldn't fight the creature with my fists, or it would latch onto me and turn me into Dark Spider-Man. Or Spider-Venom. Look, I let JJ name stuff, okay? The point is that I don't have a lot of options here. If that thing possessed my body, the Avengers might not be enough to stop me in a straight fight.

"Prrrrrkrrr" the thing's voice gurgled.

Well. That's new. The symbiote was born in the pitch black void of the outer reaches of the universe. In space, nothing can hear you scream, because sound can't travel through a vacuum. Venom had a weakness to sonic vibration that Mr. Fantastic and I were able to exploit in order to contain the thing. I knew that it could shapeshift to camouflage itself, I didn't realize it could create functioning vocal cords.

It rushes towards me as a pillar of twisting spiraling tendrils. I barely make it out of the way, dodging to the side aided by another web strand. My shoulder hits the ground and I roll through. I see a parked car in front of me. A web line drags it to me, but the red light flashes at my other wrist. My fist smashes through the glass window pane, and I blast the horn, The symbiote ripples from the sudden noise, recoiling. Without a host, it was even more susceptible to loud noises.

It fades away from sight. I'm completely out of web fluid now, so the race to the Baxter Building is going to require pure muscle power and some serious parkour.

*********

MARY JANE

I'm helping Felicia squeeze into another skimpy outfit. The girl's a bombshell, but between her muscles and her more voluptuous assets she's having difficulty getting the high fashion outfits to hang on her body properly.

"God, Mary Jane..." she says after a while. "How did you rock this on the runway?"

"Lots of double sided tape," I shrug as I try to focus on my job while at the same time cupping a handful of cat burglar booty. "Fashion can be a harsh industry, I guess."

"And people called me a villain."

Another akward pause. We've been having a lot of those.

"MJ," she asked when the silence stretched on too long. "It seems like you're uncomfortable. If you want, I can just go to a different store."

I keep working. "I appreciate you stopping by. I want us to all get along."

"Heh. I don't know if I could get along with a psycho that tied me up and lit my house on fire." She shook her head. "You have the patience of a saint, really."

"You're not a psycho. You just...didn't know what to do in a bad situation. Peter said you had a rough life."

She reaches over and lightly tucks a lock of my red hair behind my ear. "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."

I swat her hand away. "What's with giving me the femme fatale routine?"

"Who says its a routine?" she stuck her tongue out at me. "Just a little homo-erotic flirting between friends."

Thats when the front door crashed open. A flood of oily black fluid washed over Felicia's body. It looked like she had a bunch of oil or tar poured over her head. Her artfully styled hair was drenched, and her clothes just...dissolved. Melted away as the viscous black fluid spread over her pale skin. Her nudity was hidden only by black body paint, but I could see the perfect outline of her breasts and her nipples were hard.

Felicia looked at her, and her eyes were solid white. When she ran her tongue across her lower lip, it was overly long and flicking around like crazy. She padded over to me on bare feet that had the black goop dripping down her thighs and calves. I could see it moving...wriggling at her labia. Stimulating her. Most of her cleavage was exposed, not in a V-neck but in the outline of a spider.

"Mmmmm..." she purred

"Felicia...oh God, its the black suit!" I was horrified at the realization. "Felicia, snap out of it! You're the Black Cat, not She-Venom!"

'Yessss" she hissed, her dainty teeth now a little more pointed than before. "This one knows the feeling. The rage of rejection... We gave the Spider everything, and he abandoned us - both of us. Tossed us aside like trash!"

Felicia was slowly moving closer, her body poised like a predator about to lunge. I had to think fast and put on the performance of a lifetime.

"Oh no!" I swooned. "Don't fuck me, please!"

She-Venom paused a that. "What?" I could almost hear Felicia's surprised tone layered under the symbiote's legion voice. The darker undercurrent of menace rose again. "Silly girl. We're going to get our ultimate revenge, once and for all! Starting with you!"

My back against the counter, I tried to arch my back in a sexy little pose, raising one of my legs as I pushed out my large breasts. If Felicia really was bi, then this was sure to get her attention. Peter told me that the symbiote doesn't just turn somebody evil, it just highlights their darker urges in the more animalistic side of their brain. When Peter wore that thing he became selfish, territorial, and aggressive.