Now
"What are we?" Weiss asked, scowling defiantly.
"Mine." The word was said with such conviction, such authority it coaxed a blush and shiver from Peter's three sows.
Weiss scowled. "So we're your slaves, got it."
Peter peeked out between the curtains' slits, careful not to move it. Grimm stalked the streets. The symbiote's ability to use the semblances of those Peter absorbed fully was helpful in this protracted fight, but it was problematic when most of the populace was dead.
"Easy now, Ice Queen," Yang said teasingly. "He did grant your wish, right?"
Weiss glared at her dainty feet. Blake, further back on the bed, crossed her bare legs and read a book on her scroll.
"I just wish you weren't such an animal," Weiss mumbled, picking her dress off the floor. With fierceness the symbiote, or the dizzy lust driving Peter's consciousness, voiced his will upon her.
"No," he commanded. "Panties only."
Weiss gaped at him. Blake and Yang didn't bother arguing. The former strode the room with a wink, retrieving a cereal box from the kitchenette. The latter buried herself further in her book. Peter admired the contours of their chest: Yang's, bosomy; Blake's, sublime; Weiss', lithe.
With a hiss and a flustered glare at him, Weiss slowly put on her panties.
"You're all going to bear my children," he foretold. Yang gulped the bowl of cereal she was eating. Blake peeked from her scroll, cat ears flattening on her head. Weiss hugged her breasts and stomped into the bathroom.
Like it or not, however, none could deny he was the only thing standing between them and the Grimm.
This was so fucked up. How long until the extraction? Alone, Peter could have fought his way back into Vale. With his sows accompanying him, he was forced to stay stationary and on the defensive. Losing a single one of them was unacceptable.
Picking up his clothes, striding boldly into the bathroom, Peter joined Weiss under the shower. Screams and complaints soon turned into grunts and moans.
Then
"Have you heard of the new city?" Peter asked. "It's spearheaded by Charles Xavier, the-"
"Head researcher for auras and semblance," Blake said. "I know. The city will be called Xavier Institute, in honor of him."
She lay on the bed, rubbing her wrist. It was free of the IV drip. She adorned Peter's jacket, which somehow stoked the kindling within him.
"We'll buy you some clothes later," he said. "In the house. You're planning to register for Beacon, right?"
She told him deliriously on the drive to the gym. If she was surprised, it didn't show.
She nodded. "Peter, thank you for this. I didn't show my face on the scroll earlier because… I don't know. But now I'm thankful that it was for naught."
"It was smart," he said. "If you called me, another associate of your brother that you didn't recognize might be able to identify me had the associate been in your presence."
Any faunus on the street could be sympathetic to the White Fang.
"Don't go after my brother," Blake said. "Wait for me to get huntership. Then we could use my new contract to save him."
Too long, Blake. Peter nodded along. He didn't care for Adam, but if the man was going to be a pest Peter would kill him before he tried laying another finger on Blake.
"Bell Boa," Peter suggested.
"Excuse me?" Blake asked.
"You can use a cipher," he said. "You're not attending Beacon under your real name, are you?"
"Of course not. It's just…" She shook her head. "Nevermind. It's nothing."
Bell Boa. Belladonna. The coincidence must have astonished her.
Outside the bedroom, Peter scrolled Gar. "Put word on the street that someone who looks like me kidnapped the Taurus' sister."
No names given. Gar would describe him in every way that mattered and might even develop digital art closely resembling his actual face if needs be. The Taurus' sister was vague enough, considering the wanted Vale cell leader Adam Taurus did not officially have any known relatives.
It was bait to White Fang that wanted to either save or kill Blake themselves.
"Pete," Gar said, "you remember that other thing?"
"What other thing?" Peter asked.
"Y'know, the fight club we all met at?"
Peter remembered. After he got his powers he worked a few months earning lien beating enemies as the reigning underground champion called the 'Undefeated Spider-Man'.
The fight club owner had originally wanted to record his real name when he first partook in the fight, but thought better of it and paid him handsomely to be its champion.
He owed that person a lot, and although more infrequently still showed up in the club under another sobriquet that was just as 'invincible' as Spider-Man.
"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"
"Well, one of those names you told me to keep an eye on just pinged my radar. Yang Xiao Long."
Peter wondered why.
He scratched his stubble, leaned his back on the wall beside the door and held one soul against it.
"Any idea why?"
"Word on the street is she trashed Junior's place after he refused to play ball. He was rubbing a black eye talking to Fisk and lamenting his bad luck, or so my inside man said. This girl's a firecracker, Pete, and she's a forest fire waiting to blaze."
Once upon a time, fire hurt him.
That was then.
"Fisk is gonna think Yang has something to do with him," Peter said, cursing at the bullseye he drew on her back. Vale's underworld would come for her head with the finest machetes they've stolen.
Just in time, the fight club owner called. "Hold on, Gar, I gotta take this." Peter knew the club owner peddled strong arms recruited from the ring to do a little extra escorting people like Torchwick or Fisk.
Peter had been one of those people, before he wised up to it.
The fight club owner would know who was coming to their fine establishment and called Peter, their latest strongest fighter, to protect his money pit.
"Yeah, all right," he said. The owner didn't know he was Spider-Man, so he found it hilarious how the payment offered was only a third of what he got compared to his arachnid persona.
He hung up.
"Peter." Blake stepped out of the room. "I know you pretend to be human because of what you've experienced in your past, and it was wrong of me to insist otherwise." She took his hands. "Those pictures of our faunus hero, the Great Spider-Man, are proof enough that not all masks are evil."
"Spider-Man isn't a faunus," Peter said.
"Psht. Yeah, right." Blake playfully pushed him and winked her contactless, amber eyes. Peter looked at the numbered scratch paper on his palm then at the door closing before him.
Blake wasn't using her old scroll anymore, so this must be for her new one.
Heh. She was so going to hate that he pined for her along with two others.
Then
The fight club was an unassuming concrete building. Inside, people bought popcorn and booze from hawkers and gambled against each other and loomed over the arena.
A literal fighting pit stretched fifteen yards below. Rope ladders rolled, touching solid brown topsoil. People roared and cheered as the fighter they bet on scored a hit and cracked the other's aura.
The smell of booze, nicotine and perspiration permeated the air. The heat from all the patrons clustered together was dizzying the first time Peter experienced it.
Peter found the beautiful blonde in a yellow jacket and white yoga pants, laughing off some loser's attempt at flirtation.
When the loser left, Peter was unable to help himself and gave in to the compulsive heat that sought procreation. "Hi, you're beautiful and please be mine for one wish and I'll protect you forever-"
Yang flashed a winning smile, lilac eyes complimented by high cheekbones and lambent golden tresses. She took his breath away.
"Tell you what, tiger," she said teasingly, "how about you join the queue of people in the bathroom that beat themselves off with tissue paper and go home sleeping dreaming of moi."
She used some sort of foreign word, probably practiced by her family. Dead language was a commonality when villages practicing it were wiped out by Grimm. This one, while not unknown, was not as common as Valean, the lingua franca.
"Um, tell you what." He jerked his head to the pit. Retrieved a roll of lien. "I bet one grand that I'll win against you." He handed her the cash. "If I do, give me a chance."
"And if you don't?" she asked coyly, drawn to what was presumably some idiot wasting his money.
"Keep it," he said. She grinned, showing the most polished pearly whites he'd ever seen.
"Your lost," she said, all eyes on her snug pants as she sauntered away to talk with the club manager. Peter licked his lips, the world spinning, the symbiote seizing his heart.