A/N: I would like to apologize to all of my readers for the extreme tardiness of this chapter. I mentioned that a virus attacked my computer and knocked it out-of-commission, but that is an explanation and not an excuse. I sincerely hope that this "final" installment is everything that you all hoped it would be. Thank you for your loyalty and your patience.

*Updated version*

Disclaimer: All characters/names belong to Stan Lee and Marvel Comics.

Feral

Chapter 3: Catharsis

By the time Peter had reached the rooftop, the Black Cat was already warming up for the bout. She was stretching languidly and appeared unfazed by his arrival. Peter didn't even pretend to loosen up. Not with a show like this directly in front of him. He knew that it was probably a distraction technique, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own. His eyes lapped up her exquisite form. She bent over—straight-legged—and touched her toes. Then, she locked her fingers together and straightened her arms over her head, palms outward. Peter was immediately aware of the distinct lack of any type of supportive undergarment. Was she wearing any underwear? With each movement her leather suit groaned in protest and the sound seemed to echo in Peter's head. Each time he thought the outfit was going to burst open, the Cat would switch her position and the process would start all over again. She was lithe and athletic, but her curves were full and womanly, and he was painfully reminded of exactly how long it had been since he had enjoyed the company of an attractive woman. Or any woman, for that matter.

"Hey, web-head," her voice snapped his mind back to attention, and his eyes back to her face—mostly. "You might want to try getting limber." She looked him up and down, "Can't have you pulling a muscle before I kick your ass."

Peter nodded his head slowly, and turned his back to her. There was no way that his focus would remain intact if she was anywhere near his line-of-sight. He tried to concentrate on the fight, on the task at hand, on the way that the black leather clung to her br—NO! He drew in a series of deep breaths, slowly exhaling, centering himself. He rolled his shoulders a couple of times, shook out his arms and legs, and turned to face his opponent…but she had disappeared.

He was frozen in shock, for a moment, before his spider-sense roared to life and he adroitly rolled forward. Not a moment too soon, as the Black Cat's foot sliced through the air where his head had been. She landed lightly, on the balls of her feet, with a smirk plastered across her face.

"I told you, Spidey. I don't play fair," she said to him.

Peter assumed a fighting stance, with his knees slightly bent and his fists cocked, and the two began to circle one another. As they drew within striking distance, Felicia made the first move. She drew back her fist, as if to throw a punch, but quickly dropped to the ground and swept her leg in a graceful arch which knocked Peter to the ground. Jumping immediately back up to his feet, Peter retaliated. He threw a deliberate punch of his own, and, once she had caught his fist, he used his momentum to reverse his pivot, spin around, and deliver a punishing elbow to the side of her head. Felicia staggered slightly but ignored the minor numbing sensation near her temple. She ducked under his next strike and brought her knuckles to the underside of his chin with surprising force. The uppercut was so powerful that the blow lifted Peter off of his feet. Before he had a chance to regain his bearings, Felicia delivered a roundhouse kick, in midair, to his abdomen that sent him sailing across the roof.

She cautiously approached his downed form. "I thought boys weren't supposed to hit girls," she said.

Peter propped himself up onto his elbows. "I don't know any girls that hit half as hard as you do," he replied.

Felicia smiled despite herself as she observed the Spider-man slowly rise to his feet. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said.

Peter rubbed his newly aching jaw and moved to stand in front of her once more. He attempted to lunge for her but she performed a flawless back-handspring and successfully put more distance between them. However, when she had completed her maneuver, she was incredibly surprised to find a strand of webbing surrounding her stomach. With a quick tug, Peter drew her to him. Felicia threw a punch but he had anticipated it, and secured her wrist in a vice grip. He locked her other arm behind her back and arrogantly tipped his head to one side.

Felicia was stunned by the level of ease at which he had rendered her defenseless, but he had cheated. "I thought we agreed not to use our powers," she challenged, struggling against his hold.

"I thought you said that you don't like to play fair," he replied. Felicia could feel the smirk through his mask.

She pondered her situation briefly. Escape was entirely out of the question as he was undoubtedly stronger than her, but then another idea struck her. She considered their position. His arms were wrapped around her, their chests were nearly touching, and their heads were separated by only a few inches. A feral grin grew across her face. This was exactly where she wanted to be. Felicia moved closer to her captor, pressing herself tightly against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and she drew her pelvis flush to his. She was instantly aware of his growing excitement.

"What are you doing?" He said breathlessly. Felicia could hear the slight discomfort in his voice, and felt his confidence rapidly slipping away. His grip on her wrists loosened, but not enough for her to break free.

She leaned forward until their cheeks were touching. "Breaking the rules," she whispered into his ear.

Felicia noticed that his grip had gone slack and quickly slid her arms free of his hands. She should have pushed him away—should have continued their little sparring session—but her subconscious was acutely aware of every single place that they were touching. The warmth that had pooled in her stomach slowly began to spread throughout her body, and the air around them suddenly seemed charged. Felicia realized the Spider-man must have felt the same way because he had not backed away either, if anything he had drawn himself closer. She placed a hand on his chest and discovered that his pulse had accelerated exponentially, and he was breathing deeply. Her eyes searched his face and she inwardly cursed the mask for hiding it—and his emotions—from her.

Peter hesitantly secured his hands to either side of her slim waist. He tried to think of all the reasons why he shouldn't have been doing this. None came to mind. Logic and caution were thrown to the wind, and all that remained was the sudden, remarkable realization that he was no longer alone. His hands began to wander the superb contours of her body, but he froze when her hands located the bottom of his mask—and began to tug upward.

"Wait…I…uh…wait." His voice was thick with desire but his words were spoken without any semblance of conviction, and Peter's hands remained motionless to stop her. Felicia carefully raised the synthetic fabric to a point just above the tip of his nose, and Peter's protests ceased as Felicia ran her fingers along the tight sinews in his neck. Her thumb located his pulse, and began to massage the area softly. He was struck by how something so blatantly wrong could feel so incredibly right. He drew her head close and watched as her eyelids fluttered closed a moment before their lips met.

The kiss was hard and passionate and frantic. A release. Their mouths were crushed together, and their tongues dueled as ardently as the two had sparred. The ferocity in Peter's grip returned as he clutched their bodies firmly against one another. The necessity of oxygen demanded that the two separate after some time, but both remained only centimeters apart.

Felicia spoke first, her lips slightly swollen from their carnal encounter. She glanced down at a red mark along Peter's jaw line. "Got you pretty good, didn't I?" She observed.

Resting his forehead on hers, he nodded gently. "Yeah," he said, completely aware of the double-meaning behind her words.

"Let me help." As Felicia spoke, her lips brushed his due to their close proximity, and he nodded again. She pressed her lips to his injury for a few seconds, stepped back, and nimbly ran her thumb across the spot that she had kissed. Even after her lips had left his face, Peter felt a tingling sensation throughout his head. "Better?" She queried. The corners of his mouth curved upwards in a demure smile and he gave her an almost imperceptible head-bob of affirmation.

The sounds of local law-enforcement entering the building beneath their feet shattered the moment, and brought the two down from their emotional high. Gruff voices shouted orders to one another and heavy, boot-covered feet thundered loudly against the marble flooring. Policemen and women coaxed as many metallic sounds as they could from their firearms, and began to search the premises thoroughly. Peter and Felicia both took stock of their compromising position and reluctantly broke apart. Peter caught her wrist before she could extract herself completely from his grasp, and drew her close once more. Felicia placed a chaste kiss on his lips and folded the mask down, over his exposed face. She raked a single finger down the side of his face, stopping at his chin. The action sent a shockwave of shivers down Peter's spine, and his attention remained locked onto her. She balanced his jaw on her forefinger for a moment before winking, turning, and sprinting toward the opposite side of the rooftop. She turned to face him once more.

"Catch me later, web-slinger," she said, an instant before leaping off the edge of the building and disappearing into the night.

Peter smiled to himself, the memory of the kiss still fresh in his mind's eye. Not bad, Parker. Not bad at all. He swung down into the showroom and quickly explained all that had transpired—sans a few of the more saucy details—to the officers in charge. No pictures, no paycheck, and no perpetrator. No problem. He had found something much more important.

The following week, while on his routine patrol, Peter came across another jewelry store break-in. He caught sight of a wisp of white hair before it disappeared into the depths of the building. He smiled nostalgically, and rapidly changed course towards the structure. Landing precisely where he had spotted the vanishing coif, he peered into the darkness that shrouded the showroom floor. Taking a few steps forward, he called out.

"Here kitty, kitty."

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