Gwen Stacy Syndrome Ch. 05

Dear MJ,

I'm writing this on my tablet, in the backseat of your car as you drive to the airport, Felicia in the passenger seat, pointing out landmarks from a tour guide. I think she wants you to stay. I know I do. But it's my job—my privilege—to support you and I could never be as selfish as to ask you to turn an opportunity like this down. So don't think for a second that we can't endure being apart from you. Even if I'm missing you already. I know I'm striking a bit of a contradictory tone here—

You know me. I would spend every waking moment with you, if I could, but that wouldn't be good for us. You need to have your life and I need to have mine—we need to choose to live together, not have no other options. I'm making a mess of this—the last time we tried being together, I think we got some things wrong, and everything we did wrong I want to get right this time. I don't want you to feel left out. I don't want you to think anything you do or feel is unimportant, because it's important to me and it's important to Cat, even if she doesn't admit it. I know I've had a pretty crazy job over the worlds, you have always made me feel strong and capable and that's how I want to make you feel.

I mean, my goodness, you're one of the leads in a two hundred million dollar movie. Don't think for one second I don't think that has its own pressures and challenges and a lot of BS that I'll never have to deal with. But you can handle it, I know you can. And whatever changes this makes for our life together, we can handle those too. As an... us.

I'm going to write this out longhand and send it to you in England via air mail, so hopefully I'll have thought of a better way to phrase all this. Please don't ask to look at the first draft. It is getting deleted.

I know, I know, our life together has been crazy and Felicia isn't going to simplify matters. But that's good, complicated is good. You're complicated and I love you to death. One good thing about said crazy life is that I know you can take care of things in England, and I can take care of things back here, even apart.

I've been thinking about Gwen lately. Not in a bad way, a fearful way—I haven't been to the bridge—but I thought about the three of us, and Flash, and Harry... the Coffee Bean, Empire State University, all that. Things with Gwen were always simple, and I think I've been using that as a benchmark for a long time. Like love should be simple. But it wasn't simple, not really. She was lying to me and I was lying to her. How's that saying go? 'Romeo and Juliet wouldn't have lasted'?

It's hard to write that down. Don't think that I resent her. I still have feelings for her, the same way I have scars. But if she were back, I would still choose you and Felicia. She wasn't the love of my life, you two are. Because my life didn't end with her. It went on. You stood by me, and Felicia fought for me, and as complicated and weird as things got, that's still love.

I have no idea how to end this letter, so I'm not going to. I'm just gonna send what I've written today and send some more tomorrow. Maybe let Felicia write something. Probably not. I'm still not sure what I could have possibly done to deserve the two of you, so I can only assume that I've just gotten phenomenally lucky. Like a lottery winner or something. You hear about those lottery winners who waste it all on beer cozies or whatever? I don't want to be that guy. I'm gonna remember how lucky I am, always.

***

"You could just use webbing, you know," Felicia said as Peter failed to bite through another length of duct tape, getting a tape-y taste all over his tongue. It looked so easy in the movies...

"I like to advertise my identity a little more subtly than that."

"You should wear looser pants, then." Felicia dug into her pea coat, taking out a glove for her costume, and slipping it on as she sauntered up to him. "Because that is totally Spider-Man's ass you're popping."

"Popping?"

She cut the duct tape with her claw. Peter affixed it to the top of the box he'd packed up. One more load for the movers Felicia had hired. Big burly Russians who had talked about how, if anyone asked, they were playing pool down at Cousin Marv's. Peter wasn't sure they were aware that they were just helping him move out of his apartment and into Felicia's.

Peter picked up another widget for this combined spring cleaning and move. He'd never really gotten down to the nitty-gritty of pitching Ock's stuff. And he definitely didn't remember owning so many anime statues. He put it in one of the pitch bags.

"Can't you go bug Reed Richards for something to just teleport all this junk to my place?" Felicia asked, sitting atop an ajar door like that was at all a natural human being pose. "This is boring."

"It's my stuff. I don't want it to spend any amount of time in the Negative Zone. Also, secret identity." Peter picked up a yellowing paperback copy of A Princess of Mars. "Hey, I think this is mine." Ock had pitched most of his reading material, preferring a Kindle. Philistine.

Felicia sighed. "Why do you insist on bringing a bunch of junk into my classy up-town apartment?"

"It's not junk. This was actually a landmark achievement in sci-fi..."

"Oh God..."

"You can trace elements of Star Wars directly to this book..."

"God," Felicia repeated. "Okay. Fine. But your room, remember? You have your room, MJ has her room, I have my room. Boundaries. That's how I'll survive being in love with nerd trash."

"'She said lovingly'..."

"I only love you for your body. Sure you want to do this right now, with MJ in the air? Seems a little, I don't know—"

"Keeping busy is a good thing," Peter replied, boxing up a collection of old game cartridges. He'd probably put them in storage, see if the next time he moved he was mature enough to sell them on eBay or at a garage sale. "I'm not just going to brood about my problems. Not that Mary Jane being successful in her chosen field is a problem..."

Felicia smiled wryly. "Sure you don't want to go brood on top of a church or something?"

"I'm not Daredevil."

"I can flirt with you, try to get you to eat my pussy, it'll be just like old times!"

"If you want me to eat you out, you can just ask."

"Here? I'd half-expect Norman Bates to be watching through a hole in the wall."

"I congratulate your knowledge of film canon."

"Oh, I know about the scariest film ever made? I must be Roger Ebert. Say, where are all the diamonds?"

"Diamonds?"

Felicia hopped down, bending her body this way and that to make a pantomime of looking for them. "And, you know, pearls, precious metals, occasional piece of artwork? Stuff I've stolen over the years and gifted to you, just as a thanks for all the sex?"

"You couldn't send flowers?"

"It's very hard to steal flowers. They grow in the ground."

"Well, those diamonds..." Peter rubbed at his upper lip. "Man, those diamonds..." He scratched the back of his neck. "They were, technically—well, not just technically—stolen property, which I really don't... hold with..."

"Peter."

"I might've, you know, turned them over to the police."

"Peter."

"As Spider-Man, of course, just said that I busted up a fence or whatever and found these, here you go, I didn't give them your name, of course..."

"I gave you presents and you returned them?"

"You could think of it as me just giving gifts to the police. They work hard, you know."

Felicia made a beeline for the door. "If that's how much you appreciate me, you can just pack up without my help!"

"You weren't helping!"

"I was motivating you!"

***

Peter resolved not to call Mary Jane for relationship advice; he didn't know threesome etiquette, but that felt too much like the two of them ganging up on Felicia. So, in the classic Parker fashion, he decided to give her space—otherwise known as doing nothing and hoping it blew over. He kept going with the packing, let the Russians take the boxes down to the truck and divvy up the pitch pile, finally arriving at Felicia's place after convincing the he-was-pretty-sure-they-were-mobsters to stop for lunch at McDonald's, his treat.

Felicia let him come up to her apartment. That was a good sign.

"Sorry, was that a little—" Felicia smiled, like a cat caught staring at a fish. "I'm not trying to be a crazy ex. Even though I have been crazy. And your ex."

"It's fine. I'm sorry. I didn't know they meant that much to you. I thought it was like, me and stealing, you and science... you wouldn't be impressed if I named a molecule after you, would ya?"

"I don't know—would it be a hot molecule?" Felicia put her arms around his neck, hanging off him. She enjoyed having a boyfriend who was only slightly taller than her. Too tall and things got difficult. Too short and she couldn't respect them. Peter was just right. "Anyway, I vented to MJ, so we're cool now."

They're ganging up on me. Knew I should've called her. "Wanna go on patrol? Beat up some bad guys? Possibly sustain grievous injury?"

"No thanks, Responsibility Jones. I was going to take a nap and eat something covered in chocolate. Possibly you." She sauntered away from him—always so good at that. "By the way, you don't want me steal things for you anymore, right?"

"Yes. I enjoy being vaguely obedient of the law." Peter winced as one of the passing Russian movers eyed him. "Not that the law is that great or anything..."

"Well, I already got you something. This one could you keep, please?"

"Of course, Phe. Just this once."

"See? Mary Jane knew you would see reason." Grabbing him by a shirt cuff, Felicia pulled him into another room. Of course it had a bed. But all Felicia did was get on her knees and reach under it, pulling out a large disc-shaped object. Like a trash can lid painted red and blue. "Ta-da!"

Peter recognized it. With the sinking feeling it gave him, how could he not? "Is that...?"

"Captain America's shield? Yeah." Felicia grinned at him. "I know you're a fan."

"Doesn't he, uh... doesn't he need that? For criminals?"

"Eh, I'm sure he has a spare."

"It's made of a unique adamantium-vibranium compound—"

"And it gives you a warm fuzzy feeling that I would steal it for you?" Felicia interrupted. "Yeah. Don't worry, you don't have to steal anything for me. Just, you know—"

"Eat you out," Peter said numbly.

"We are such a great couple!"

***

Avengers Tower was a state-of-the-art, heavily fortified headquarters where America's premier superteam could both defend from enemy attach and launch offensives against the most dire catastrophes.

Peter Parker ran through it very quickly.

"Tony!" he cried, nearly pancaking himself into the wall of the clean room. Through a glass window, Tony Stark was assembling a microchip like the world's smallest jigsaw puzzle. "I need a bro code moment."

Tony made a minute adjustment of two decameters. "I'm a little busy..."

"Tony, bro code! Now!"

That was when Steve Rogers poked his head in. "Have either of you seen my shield?"

"No," Tony said.

"What he said," Peter said. Then, in a whisper, "was no." There. He hadn't lied to Captain America.

"Well, let me know if you see it."

Peter gulped as he left. He was still gulping—it was a big gulp—as Tony emerged from the clean room in his scrubs and plastic booties.

"What is it, Parker? I could be creating a device that cuts off any video that asks you to Like or Subscribe right now."

"Is that really necessary?"

"I'm bored," Tony justified. Then his eyes took on a gleam that usually worried Peter. "Are there... shenanigans?"

Peter took a deep breath. "Felicia stole Cap's shield and gave it to me."

"So give it back."

"I can't. It was a gift."

"Pete, Cap needs his shield. When he throws his mighty shield, etc, etc. Kinda important that he actually has a shield for that."

"I know, I know... what about that time you built him a solid-light shield?"

Tony waved away the suggestion. "What about the time I built you a suit of powered armor?"

"You went crazy and tried to imprison me in the Negative Zone."

"Yeesh, hold that over my head forever." Tony stroked his goatee. "Just give it back."

"I can't. Felicia is my... we're ladyfriends. I mean, she's my—you get from I'm saying."

"Geez, Pete, there are other girls. Girls that don't steal iconic pieces of Americana—wait, is this the Black Cat we're talking about?"

"Yes."

"The Black Cat? Not some Black Cat V who's a Cuban woman and a member of X-Force, but the actual—"

"Actual Black Cat."

"Okay. Objection withdrawn. Niiiice." Tony slapped Peter's back. "Okay then, keep it. Steve would understand. If he weren't born before the invention of the Wonder-Bra."

"I can't keep it, it's like his best friend!"

"I'm his best friend."

"You went crazy and tried to imprison him—"

"Let it go," Tony interjected. "Okay. You can't keep it. You can't get rid of it."

"Exactly."

"What if I used a network of satellites—just a small one—to make your girl think she had never stolen Cap's shield—"

"Tony, no."

"Just think about it."

"No satellites."

"Okay then. That limits our options. I guess all that's left is to ask Steve if it's okay for you to have his shield."

"Ask Steve—" Peter sputtered. "You want me to ask—my girlfriend stole from him and you want me to ask him if I can keep the loot? The loot, Tony!?"

"If anyone would go for it, it'd be Steve."

Peter's eyebrows drew together. "That's actually a good point."

"Yeah, I know him pretty well, being his best friend and all." Tony jabbed a finger at him suddenly. "Don't say it—"

"I wasn't going to say it."

"Good."

***

Steve's voice, as always, was calm, rational, and warm. "I'm not sure how my shield could help you with your relationship difficulties, but if it means that much to you, sure, you can borrow it for a while."

"Oh, that's a weight off my shoulders." Peter collapsed onto the living room's couch, nearly hitting Luke Cage, who was nursing his baby. "I really didn't want to work it this way, Steve, I swear. It's just—I've been kind of a jerk before, so I'm trying to make up for it."

"It's no problem, really. It's probably about time I try out alternatives anyway. You don't want to get stuck in a rut. Who knows what Tony could have cooked up with his solid-light shield by now?"

"Exactly," Peter breathed. "Exactly. It's kind of a good thing. We'll just pretend we don't know Felicia took it, but in reality, we're all totally cool." He leapt up. "I should go. I have a lot of unpacking to do."

"Thanks for telling me," Steve said. "And Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you... send me pictures of it? Just once a day? So I know it's alright."

"Yeah." Peter nodded slowly. "Sure..."

***

Moving into a new apartment and unpacking was not just something you put on a to-do list. It was a long, painful process, like learning to walk again after a spinal injury. A week later, Peter was still forcing himself to find the time to unpack one more box...

"I'm impressed with you, Peter," Felicia said, in the doorway of Peter's bedroom (it was bigger than his old apartment). She watched him unpack his things with a keen eye.

"And I'm not even naked."

"I thought for sure that you would've gone running back to Captain America with his precious shield. I was going to needle you about it."

"What can I say?" Peter plugged in his ancient clock radio and set the time. "I'm a bad boy, Cat. A rebel."

"Uh-huh." Felicia crossed the room to sit down on his bed, bouncing her butt on it experimentally. "Look, I know you're not a thief or a criminal. You're... not exactly a boy scout, but deep down, you're into following the rules and getting a pat on the head and eating your vegetables."

"What's wrong with vegetables?"

"Exactly." Felicia patted the bed next to her. Peter sat down. "I'm in love with you, Peter Parker. Even if you are a total square. I don't expect you to enjoy picking locks or not wearing underwear—"

"Why would you not wear under—"

"Ssh." Felicia put her finger to his lips. "I get that. But let's face it, there's a reason Darkhawk was an Avenger before you. You don't play well with others. Every so often, you walk on the wild side. And I really like that. You cutting loose and enjoying yourself. So let's meet halfway. I won't pull you too far out of your comfort zone and you won't pull me too far out of mine."

"Well..." Peter said consideringly. "I do like it when you steal from bad guys instead of, you know, innocent people. Innocent museums. Et al."

"And I like it when you fuck me on rooftops. Look, I know you don't want the shield. So how about you give it back to Rogers and I get you another present. Something with a receipt this time."

"I promise I'll love it."

"Yeah, you will. Who doesn't like pegging?"

Peter shook his head. "I still don't know what that is."

"For now, why don't you lie back? It's been a long day—I saw that fight you had with the Rhino on the news. I'll get some lotion, we'll see what we can do about those bruises."

Peter unbuttoned his shirt, guessing that this would be a clothing-optional session. "A massage?"

"No." Felicia winked at him. "Massages are legal. This would fall more under the category of prostitution."

***

They didn't actually get to the 'prostitution', which was good, since Peter's finances were in the same dire straits as ever, even with his exciting new occupation of rentboy. But he was exhausted after the fight with Rhino, just too wired up to sleep, and having Felicia slather him up with hot oil and rub all feeling out of his muscles took care of that. He shut his eyes to enjoy the massage and kept them closed for a long, restful sleep.

When he came awake, he found his pillow felt different. Not the lumpy thing he had automatically packed and promised himself he'd replace once he had some pocket money. No, this was soft, yet firm. He opened his eyes, reaching behind his head to pat it, only to find a warm, naked thigh in his hands. He looked to the side to see a glossy thatch of pubic hair. The giggles started shortly after.

He looked down Randi's supple leg to see Bambi and Candi kneeling on the mattress, playing with his leaden cock through the thin bedsheet. All three of his neighbors were nude. Felicia sat nearby on the bean bag chair he'd had since college, filming through a Handicam.

"Thought I'd send a little care package to Mary Jane," Felicia explained. "Some home-made cookies, a mix tape, and a little proof that you're in good hands. Three women to sub for one Mary Jane. That sounds about right, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Peter said, boggling, his cock growing hard. Confusion and arousal—his life all over. "But how'd you talk them—" He looked at Randi. "How'd she talk you into this?"

"Oh, Peter, we'd do anything for a friend."

"We owe Felicia a favor," Bambi said.

"And I've always wanted to know what all those hot bitches you date see in you," Candi added. "No offense."

"None taken," Felicia interjected. "I fully admit I'm a hot bitch. Now, Peter, alright if we start?"

Whatever resolve Peter had left after giving into Felicia and Mary Jane a few weeks ago was rapidly dissipating. He wasn't as attracted to Randi, Bambi, or Candi, nor did he have the same feelings for them, but the prospect of casual, no-strings-attached sex—with Felicia watching and Mary Jane in the loop as well—had its own brand of taboo thrill. "And you're sure MJ's okay with it?"