For Mary Jane, the world stopped making sense, but she was unable to comment, her mouth invaded by the tongue of her favorite superhero. She was going to slap him so hard, she decided. Who did he think he was, treating her like a toy just because he saved her from a certain death, a performance that was followed by the most thrilling, fairy-tale like experience of her life, the landscape of the city blurring in her eyes…

He had no right to kiss her like that.

She was going to slap him, she repeated in her mind. She was going to do it the moment she managed to pull away from his lips. But at that point, her plan hit an unexpected snag. Separating from him was proving to be harder than she would have expected. Not because of his arms pressing against her back, as for all their potential strength, their hold was gentle enough that she could have freed herself easily. She just needed to lean back, and the connection would be broken…

But she found herself reluctant to take that exact step. With their bodies pressing tight together, she could feel his wiry muscles, the sensation barely impeded by his skin-tight costume. She didn't want to deprive herself of the sensation. Just a second more, she thought, deepening the kiss as she tried to etch the moment in her mind.

Then, she felt his arms tightening around her body, smashing her even tighter against him. With a sudden insight, she realized that she lost the chance to pull back. His arms turned into a cage, trapping her inside. Not that it mattered. Under the heat of his kiss, she felt like a butterfly captivated by the fire, unable to stop her flight despite the edges of her wings starting to smoke.

And what a fire it was. She could feel her skin blistering under the heat of his passion, each touch leaving a burning track in its wake. His fingers roaming freely on her body, driving closer to her breasts. She knew that she should have grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands away. It was too much. But her hands rejected to follow her orders, instead, she was busy tracing the delicious contours of his muscles.

His fingers sank into her breasts, triggering a wave of pleasure in her heart, stronger than anything else she had felt in her life. None of her boyfriends, rare as they were, managed to awaken even a fraction of it even during sex. Just a touch over her shirt, and she was edging an orgasm.

Maybe it was a part of his powers, she thought, but that thought flickered away when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her up. For a moment, she felt curious, as it was more comfortable than she would have expected. Then, she realized the reason. Her legs had turned traitor as well, wrapping around his waist to give him an additional leverage. But he took a step, and all of her desire to complain melted away, the rush of pleasure as her core rubbed against his shaft blanking out her mind.

She felt the cold presence of a wall against her back, but she kept her legs wrapped around his waist. He pulled away from the kiss, leaving her mouth suddenly empty. Still, she felt unable to say anything, her mouth occupied by an involuntary moan as he pulled her blouse down, his lips dancing on the sensitive skin of her breasts, pushing her bra out of the way whenever it tried to cut his way. Soon, his lips were around her nipple, biting hard enough to leave his mark, and just like that, she felt her mind blanked out by the strongest orgasm she had ever experienced.

It was unfair, she thought, that he was able to push her over the edge like she was a wind-up toy. It was different from her usual experience, where her partner did his, or in rare occasions, her, ultimate best to worship her body to bring a fraction of pleasure she was feeling at the moment. As she rested against the wall, enjoying the cold sensation across her burning skin, there was one detail that made her relax. At least, with her legs wrapped around his waist, it was impossible for him to pull down her panties. A small victory, but a victory nevertheless, she thought as she looked at his face, still covered with mask other than his lips, her lips curling smugly.

She realized her mistake when his lips shifted into a similar shape. She tightened her legs around him in an effort to make it impossible to pull them down, but she had missed an important detail. With his augmented strength, ripping off her panties was a trivial task for him, as he proved by getting rid of them in one lazy tug. He raised them up to taunt her before throwing them to the side, leaving her naked for all practical purposes. Yes, she still had her skirt and her blouse, and her skirt was even in the location it was supposed to be, but that was little comfort when she could feel the chilly evening air around her breasts, and his shaft pressing against her naked slit, separated only by his skintight costume.

"Stop," she shouted in panic, or more accurately, she tried to shout, but only a trembling whisper left her mouth, one she barely able to hear, sensual and needy rather than forbidding. He leaned towards her lips, making her think that he failed to hear what she had said. Her lips parted open to meet with his kiss, ignoring her orders to repeat.

He stopped just before their lips connected, and whispered one word. "Why?"

She struggled to take back the control of her lips, only to realize that she didn't have an answer. She couldn't say she didn't want it, her body was burning with an undeniable needs. She could say that they weren't dating, but saving her life, followed by one of the most thrilling experiences of her life beat every other date she had been into.

The word date tickled a part of her mind, like she was forgetting something important. Somehow, it was important, she realized. It took a second for her to remember why. Technically, she was still in a date with Peter, though that itself failed to be a reason to reject her hero. After all, it was Peter who smugly declared that he didn't do exclusive relationships. Not to mention that he left her in a mortal danger without a blink. There wasn't a reason to care about him, she realized. "Nothing," she said with a sudden realization. "There is no reason to stop."

And since there was no reason, she shouldn't waste the time of such an important hero, she decided, leaning forward to initiate the kiss that was awaiting her. The devil could take the future, the present was hers, she thought, surrendering herself for the kiss of fire.

Distracted by the texture of his tongue, she missed the significance of the movement of his around his waist level, though a certain stiff presence, pressing against her entrance, did an excellent job of reminding her. In response, she shifted a bit until it was aligned with her entrance, and pushed herself deep into it. It slid easily through her wet tunnel, filling her with the most acute sense of completion she had ever felt.

Then, he started moving. His hips rocked, and her world went off focus. He repeated, and the present reduced into discrete pieces of pictures, their connection lost. She remembered being pushed on the ground, his weight over her pushing him even deeper into her… She remembered him lying on the ground while she was desperately riding him, her tits dangling freely under the dim moonlight… She remembered being held up by his webs while he slammed repeatedly into her motionless body… She remembered a rush of pleasure, deeper than anything she had ever felt in her life… She remembered blacking out…

When her consciousness was back, she was in his arms once more, this time, he was lowering her into a familiar alley. Just half a block away from the cafe they first met, she remembered. She tried to remember the rest, but was unable to push through the set of disjointed images. Her nipples, imprisoned between a set of sharp teeth. A burning kiss, they shared as she lay comfortably over his chest… She knew that there were many more, but she was too exhausted to remember anything else. "Good night, MJ," he whispered, his body pressing tight against hers in a way that tempted her to ask for an encore despite her bone-weary exhaustion. But before she could say anything, he stole one last kiss then disappeared away. She tried to remember when she told him her name, but came up blank, not that it was important. After all, she failed to remember most of the night.

Exhausted, she tried to fix her hair and clothing, but without a mirror and a comb, she had a limited success. Not to mention she needed a new set of clothes, she added, noticing that her current ones were ruined in a way that suggested activities too rough for polite society. The absence of her bra and panties just made it worse. Helpless, she just stumbled out, no idea how to go back home. Calling a taxi wasn't exactly preferable in her current state, and the subway was just asking for trouble.

It turned out, the answer was waiting for her at the end of the street. The bike she came with came into her field of vision, her supposed date sitting on it, waiting for her. For a moment, she felt a rush of shame as a reflex, despite all that happened, it was weird to come face to face with a date she just cheated. Guilt spread inside her, as she expected him to break into an angry retort.

"It looks like you had a rough tumble," he said in a casual manner, and her mouth fell open in shock. "Should we call it a night, or do you want to continue our date after a change of clothes and a shower."

Mary Jane looked at him incredulously, unable to comprehend his comment at all. With the state she was in, there was no way he didn't realize she had been having sex for the last few hours. Not just casual sex, but rough, back-breaking, skin-marking, earthshaking sex. She didn't have a mirror, but she was sure that her neck was filled with hickeys, and her lips were puffed red, her lipstick disappeared into a red patch. And he just offered to continue their date like nothing had happened. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She decided to ignore the situation wholesale. Her mind was messed up enough as it was. "Just drop me back to home," she murmured and took the seat behind him.

"I would have said, be ready for the ride of your life, but it seems a bit of a tall order if I'm reading the evidence correctly," he commented flippantly.

She felt a spark of anger, annoyed by his easy dismissal. How he could be so callous with the situation, she had no idea, but decided to punish him in any case. She wrapped her arms around her, but let one of her hands slip under his shirt and raked his skin, hard enough to draw blood, getting even angrier when she received only a laugh as the reaction. "Rough kitten," he said. "Hold tight."

"Don't call me kitten," she retorted angrily, but the diminutive nickname wasn't the reason for her sudden anger. No, it was the sensation of safety and completion she felt as she wrapped her arms around his torso. A sensation that didn't make any sense. He deserted her without a blink when she faced the biggest danger in her life. And then, she spent the next few hours having sex with a different man. How could she feel a familiar sense of safety with him, she didn't understand, but she knew that her own body and his stupid, useless muscles were to blame in equal amounts.

Then he sped up, freeing her from the burden of deep thoughts, their place was taken up by panic. For a moment, she was convinced that he had decided to take revenge by killing them in an accident, since no one without a death wish could drive that fast in New York streets. She let out panicked cries with the first few close calls, but those subsided after realizing they hadn't turned into a bloody smear against one of the cars that occupied the same road. She realized he could drive quite well, almost enough to be professional despite his daredevil style, heedless of any danger, but always in control. She decided to enjoy the opportunity, adrenaline revitalizing her exhausted muscles.

Then she came into a sudden realization, which made her feel strangely hurt. Someone that could drive like could never be a coward, which meant he disappeared because he didn't care. He didn't care about the people there, and more importantly, he didn't care about her. If only she could understand why realizing that hurt her that much… Helpless, she decided to make him pay, the easiest way she could. She slid her hand under his shirt once more, dragging her nails over his skin again and again, harder and harder as he put no reaction. "I hate you!" she whispered, again and again…

She felt a sharp disappointment as they arrived in front of her home, which, only made her angrier, enough that even the thick lines of blood on his shirt didn't make her feel guilty. Well, not much, she corrected. She felt a stab of guilt, but it subsided after seeing him act unbothered by it. He said nothing, just gazed into her eyes. A gaze, for some reason, she was unable to escape. "What!" she shouted, letting her anger dominate her tone to hide her confusion.

"I'll pick you tomorrow, at two p.m. exact for, the photoshoot. Be ready for it, as I don't like to be kept in waiting," he said.

His casual assumption that there would be a repeat made her even angrier, though not as much as her own instincts, shouting her to accept it. "Do you think it's still going to happen after what happened today?" she shouted.

"Yes," he answered, calm as steel.

Mary Jane let out a wordless cry of frustration, turned sharply, and walked towards her door, only to come to a sudden stop halfway, realizing that she had given him a very intimate shot as her skirt rose with her rapid turn. But her frustration at that nothing compared to one she felt against herself, because she knew with an absolute certainty that, tomorrow at two, she was going to be just behind the door, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

It was enough confusion for the night, she decided, preparing to walk the remaining distance. But before she continued, she felt his hand around her wrist. It wasn't a hard grip, barely harder than a spider's web, but somehow, it was stronger than steel. "What," she said, turning back equally quick, giving him another view of her core, strained by her earlier adventure. How could he smile smugly at that sight, she had no idea, so she just ignored.

"No goodnight kiss?" he asked.

"Of course not," she answered, but for some mysterious reason, her body rebelled once more, leaning to meet him halfway, allowing his lips to capture hers in a domineering assault. One that felt familiar for some reason, but her mind was far too worn out to think about it. She just focused on trying to stand on her own feet, which was made difficult by her trembling legs. He pushed her back without breaking the kiss, and soon, their bodies were pressed tight against her door. She found herself locked in a primal, twisted tango, and failed to resist as his fingers slid under her skirt, leveraging her lack of panties to a great effect. She was like a dove, captivated by the deadly dance of a falcon, unable to escape… Evasion was not an option, even if she were to end between the claws of a predator.

Once again, the time lost its significance, she accepted passively as his tongue explored her mouth, replicating the movement of his fingers underneath. When he finally pulled back without saying nothing, disappearing with the loud roar of the engine, she failed to do anything but watch frozen. It took a while for her to gather herself enough to open the door and step inside. She slammed it back, then rested against it, trying to catch her breath.

"Welcome back, kiddo," her aunt's voice came from the living room. "You're later than I expected. Should I assume it was a good date."

"NO!" Mary Jane shouted, spewing her confusion, and the frustration for her loss of control. All her life, she never experienced a night she was that out of control, yet that amazing. And it made her furious.

She realized her mistake as she heard the footsteps closing by. "What happened?" she asked, panicked, and turned on the light a second later, only to gasp in shock. For a moment, Mary Jane was afraid that her aunt misunderstood the situation, thinking that she had been assaulted. As with her skirt in ruins, her blouse a dirty, ripped mess, and with her underwear visibly absent, it wouldn't be a hard point to reach. Then, her eye caught her reflection, her face in particular. Her make-up ruined, her lips marred… But all paled against the expression of pure bliss on her face. "Really, MJ," her aunt said with a soft laugh. "I wish I was a teenager if that what you call a bad date these days. I don't think my heart could handle a good one even then."

"It's not like that," Mary Jane argued.

"So, there won't be a second date, then?" her aunt asked, barely holding back a laugh. Mary Jane stayed silent. "I'm waiting," she added, chuckles escaping her lips.

"There will be," she whispered, strangely ashamed, and her aunt lost it, her laugh filling the house. "Shut up! It's complicated," Mary Jane shouted and dashed back to her room. Maybe the world would start making sense once more after a shower and a long, uninterrupted sleep.

But she suspected that it wouldn't…

Author notes: And Marvel's favorite redhead finally has a close encounter with our hero. I tried to do a twist around the usual story where the hero's date gets ruined by his secret identity. I hope you guys enjoyed as much as I did while writing it.

Also, don't forget to check my original writings in P/atreon/dirk_grey.