TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy
Author's Notes
Knights of the Bath are members of a very old and very prestigious Order of the British Crown. The term takes on a slightly different meaning in this chapter.
The Coney Island Polar Bear Club is the oldest winter bathing organization in the United States. Its members swim in the Atlantic Ocean at Coney Island every Sunday from October through April.
During the course of his conversation with Mary Jane, Peter refers to the scene in the film, Titanic, in which Jack Dawson, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, and Cal Hockley, played by Billy Zane, both urge Rose DeWitt Bukater, played by Kate Winslet, to get into the lifeboat.
Another part of that conversation is a composite, drawn from: J. Michael Straczynski & Fiona Avery, The Best of Spider-Man, Volume Three - Parts and Pieces, (New York: Marvel Characters, Inc., 2003); and Peter David, Spider-Man - The Official Novelization of the Film, (New York: Random House, Inc., 2002), pp. 279-280.
Disclaimer
This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.
XXVII
KNIGHT OF THE BATH
Quickly, but quietly, Spider-Man slipped through the skylight, back into the safety and comfort of his new home. The warmth from the loft wrapped itself around him like a thick, soft, nurturing blanket. It was a welcome relief after his bone-chilling dip in the Hudson River. Just before he closed the skylight, he looked up at the few stars he could see, silently expressing gratitude at getting out of that pickle beneath the George Washington Bridge, and hope that Scott was getting the help he needed.
Peter stepped onto the veranda, removing his mask and gloves. The wok set was exactly where he had left it, which told him that Mary Jane had not yet seen it, or had been waiting for him to return before opening it. The rest of apartment was dark, except for faint squares of reflected light from outside streaming onto the cream-colored carpeting from the still-uncovered windows.
As his eyes became acclimated to the darkness, he spotted what looked like Mary Jane's grey sweater on the living room floor, the one that she had been wearing when she left for her play. Landing silently after a leap over the balustrade, he bent down to get a closer look. The sweater was lying perfectly flat, it's sleeves drawn together to form an arrow that pointed toward the arched hallway.
As he stood up, Peter noticed the rest of M.J.'s clothes. They were not casually strewn about. Her shoes, panty hose, pink blouse, and jeans were laid out in a line that led straight into the master bedroom at the far end of the hall. The door was open just enough for him to see a faint, flickering light emanating from inside.
His heart pounded with anticipation when he realized what she had left for him — a trail to follow.
Peter opened the door and tip-toed reverently into the bedroom, expecting his lady love to be lying in the bed, waiting for him with the covers folded down, beckoning him to join her.
But the bed was empty. Mary Jane was nowhere to be seen.
A solitary candle rested on a folded piece of tin foil atop M.J.'s dresser, its flame causing the shadows in the room to dance.
"Mary Jane?" he called out.
There was no answer. Then his spider-sense started to tingle, ever so slightly. No sooner had he taken a step when he felt a crumpling sensation underneath his foot. On the floor was a piece of notebook paper with a drawing of cupid's arrow in red magic marker, flanked by tiny hearts.
Beneath the arrow was a big heart with a message inside. Peter had to kneel down to read it in the dim light.
This way to the jackpot.
The arrow was pointing to the dressing area between the bedroom and the master bathroom.
The trail of clothes resumed in the dressing area. Two more lit candles stood on the vanity, flanking the sink. Near one of the candles lay Mary Jane's bra. Her panties were hanging on the knob of the bathroom door. The door itself was slightly ajar, letting a tiny sliver of that same flickering light slip through. A broad grin broke out across Peter's face as he heard a splashing sound, followed by that wonderful, mellifluous giggle.
Peter pushed the door back, and beheld the most incredible sight he had ever laid eyes upon.
Lighted candles two inches in diameter and sixteen inches tall had been placed all over the second sink, on the commode, and in the shower stall. These candles, unlike the others, had a distinct strawberry aroma. The oversized jacuzzi-style tub was filled with a bubble bath. Suds were piled in cloud-shaped mounds that towered nearly three feet high. Next to the tub stood a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two empty wine goblets.
Mary Jane lay in the tub, covered with suds up to her neck. Her head was tilted back, her million-dollar smile aimed right at him. Peter could see the candle flames reflected in her luscious eyes.
"Where did you get all this stuff, M.J?" he asked, so awed by what he was seeing that he could barely speak above a whisper.
"Spencer's," she answered as she seductively raised a knee out of the water. "Why don't you read the sign?"
"What sign?"
"The one on the door, love."
Peter glanced toward his right. Sure enough, there was a small post-it note, right in front of his face.
"What does it say, Peter?"
"It says . . ." Oh, boy . . . "no clothes allowed beyond this point. Does this mean I have to . . .?"
"Uh huh," M.J. replied huskily, resting her leg on the curved side of the tub. Her hand brushed against her thigh and slipped back beneath the suds. A soft moan escaped her lips.
Peter let go of his mask and gloves, allowing them to drop onto the floor near the foot of the tub. He slowly stripped out of the rest of his costume until he stood before his fiancée with nothing on but a skimpy pair of navy blue briefs hanging so low as to leave the base of his phallus uncovered.
"I put these on especially for you, M.J."
Mary Jane whistled, her eyebrows arching up and down as she gazed upon her boyfriend's muscular, sinewy physique.
"How thoughtful," she said. "Now, how about giving me the honor of taking them off?"
Peter took a step closer to the tub, but remained just beyond her reach. As she extended her bubble-covered arm, he turned around so that she would not see how hard he was.
"Quit teasing me, Tiger."
"Just showing you my best side, honey."
"You've got a point there," she laughed, gazing lustfully at the tops of his buns. Just as she was reaching out to yank away his underwear, he leaped up to the eight-foot-high ceiling and positioned himself directly over the tub, his "best" side facing her.
"Get down here!" she demanded, her face twisting into a mock pout.
"Only if you give me a drum-roll."
As Mary Jane rapidly pounded the side of the tub, Peter slowly lowered himself toward her, butt-down, on an extremely thin webline. Running her tongue over her teeth, she grabbed his tiny briefs and practically tore them away.
Her expression turned quizzical as she felt the cold dampness between her fingers. "How come you're so wet?"
Peter smiled mischievously as he flicked his underwear off with his feet and sank into the bubble-mound. "Ohhhhh, Mary Jane," he sighed as the hot water engulfed him. "You have no idea how good this feels."
"I'll bet I do," M.J. said as she tenderly caressed his shoulder blade. She noticed one of his costume boots lying on its side, a tiny trickle of water spilling out of it. She leaned forward in the tub, righted the boot, and stuck her hand inside it.
"Come on, what happened to you? And why is your boot soaked?"
"Well . . . uh . . . M.J. . . . I was feeling so good about things that I . . . well I sort of got carried away and . . ."
"And?"
"I went for a little night-swim."
"Peter, you didn't!" It was not so much what he said that made her anxiety level rise.
It was the nonchalant way in which he had said it.
"Well, for your sake, I hope it was in a heated pool on top of some Park Avenue penthouse."
"Actually, it was under the George Washington Bridge."
Mary Jane's gorgeous green eyes all but popped out of their sockets. "Are you out of your mind?" she shouted. "Do you have any idea how cold that water is this time of year?"
Stunned by his fiancée's unexpectedly sharp reaction, Peter backtracked and attempted to ease the tension that had suddenly descended between them. "I was trying out for the Coney Island Polar Bear Club."
It was not one of his better judgments.
"That's not funny, Peter Parker. You could've drowned. Or froze to death. What the hell were you thinking?"
He realized that he had lost both the moment and the mood, and wasted no time trying to get them back. "Come on, Mary Jane. You know better than anyone that I'm no thrill-seeker. Some mixed up teenager threw himself off the bridge over a girl. I was there. I had to do something. If I . . ."
"That 's not the issue," Mary Jane interrupted. "I know you had to save that kid. Don't even think for a minute that I would ever want you to do otherwise. But it's your cavalier attitude that I have problems with."
"Huh?"
To Peter, was totally new, and totally out of left field. He had always believed that Spider-Man's trademarked brand of humor was a big turn-on for her. "I don't get it, M.J. That never bothered you before."
"Use your head, Peter. We weren't together before. Now we are." As she turned on her side to face him, a chunk of suds broke away from the shrinking bubble-cloud and landed on his nose. The sight reminded her of a circus clown getting a pie in the face.
She giggled softly, in spite of herself.
"You were always so worried about something happening to me," she pointed out, wiping the bubbles off his face. "Well now, I'm worrying about you, every day and night. But when you joke around about nearly getting killed, it's like you don't care about your own safety. And that really bothers me."
"That's not true, M.J. I do care, very much. But you've got to understand something. Spider-Man's just an act, like your character in the show. If I didn't have his sense of humor to get me through all the craziness I have to deal with day in and day out, I'd have lost it a long time ago."
Mary Jane smiled, her concerns already beginning to dissipate. "I know that, Tiger. But in case you've forgotten, I'm going to be your wife. You don't have to wear that character around me anymore. "
Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Force of habit, I guess."
Mary Jane reached up and lightly caressed the stubble on his cheeks and chin. "If you haven't figured it out yet, Pete, I'm not in love with Spider-Man."
"But you once told me you were," Peter protested. "In Aunt May's hospital room, after the Goblin attacked her, remember?"
"That was only a stupid schoolgirl crush," she went on. "The truth is, I'm in love with the guy who brings him to life, the nerdy kid from Queens with those deep blue eyes and that goofy, crooked smile. That's the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want us to be together for a long, long time."
"M.J., that's exactly what I want, believe me. I want a marriage that lasts a hundred years. I want kids, and I want to be able to do all those things that couples and families do." He reached around Mary Jane's shoulders and nudged her in close. "But I'm just not sure whether a normal life's in the cards for us."
"And what's normal?" Mary Jane asked rhetorically. "Getting on a bus at the same time every day, punching a ticket at some dead end job, having chicken for dinner, and getting laid every night?"
"I kind of like the last part, actually."
Mary Jane gave him a lighthearted splash. "The point is, love, that you weren't meant to have a so-called normal life. You were meant for something more. It was pretty apparent by the time Aunt May and I got finished reading your letters." She hesitated for a moment, an expression of guilt briefly appearing on her face. "I hope you're not mad at us about that, by the way."
Peter shook his head. "How could I be? You needed answers, and you found them. I just hope you understand everything."
"I do." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "I know who you are now. And I know why you have to do the things you do. You can't deny that part of your existence, any more than I can deny my feelings for you. I want you to be the man you were meant to be. And I'm going to do everything I can to help you get there. That's my responsibility."
Now it was Peter's turn to feel the prick of tears behind his eyes. Mary Jane's unconditional acceptance of his double-life had finally brought him out of the hell into which he had fallen on the night of his uncle's murder. With her by his side, he could meet every challenge and overcome every obstacle that life threw in his way, no longer dogged by the dreadful fear that his loved ones would suffer the consequences of his mistakes. She had chased his demons away, and now she would hold his universe together.
And he would do the same for her.
But Mary Jane had not yet finished. "I'll need a few things from you in return."
"Such as?"
She looked him straight in the eye and did not mince words. "From now on, play it straight with me. Don't tell me everything's all right when it isn't. And don't stuff everything inside. If you've got something you need to get off your chest, then talk to me about it."
"Is that all?"
Mary Jane thought about it for a moment. "Don't try to impress me with that aw-shucks bravado anymore. And don't ever, ever push me away. Do we have a deal?"
Peter hesitated. "Not yet. I still need one concession from you."
"Go on," she encouraged.
"Plan X."
"And just what is Plan X?"
"Did you ever see Titanic?"
"Of course. But what's that got to do with us?"
"Everything. Remember that part when the ship was sinking and the guy from steerage told the girl from first class to get in the boat?"
"Peter, what are you getting at?" In truth, she knew perfectly well what Plan X was going to be, but was hoping that she would be wrong.
She wasn't.
"M.J., I want you to promise me that you'll get in the boat."
"Peter, I . . ."
"Promise me." he insisted.
Mary Jane knew that if , God forbid, Peter were ever in a hopeless situation, he would want her to get to safety. Still, at this nascent stage of their relationship, the mere thought that she might have to go on without him was hard for her to deal with.
"I can't make a promise like that."
"You have to. If anything happens to me, I'll need to know that you'll be alright. Please, Mary Jane. Promise me."
His logic was inescapable. But she literally had to force the words out of her mouth. "Okay . . . I promise."
"Cross your heart?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," Peter said softly.
As Mary Jane laid her head on his chest, Peter stared up at the ceiling as that familiar, far-away look that she knew so well appeared in his eyes. "I can bench-press a truck," he began as he absentmindedly stroked her hair. "I can swing like a madman between skyscrapers, take out twenty guys at a clip, and dodge bullets. I might even win a Nobel Prize one day, who knows." He searched his memory for the words he had spoken so long ago, words which allowed Mary Jane to see for herself the depth of his feelings toward her. "But even now, when I look into your eyes, and you look into mine . . . I still feel . . .stronger, but weaker . . . excited, but terrified . . ."
M.J.'s lower lip quivered. Her eyes shined with moisture as she drew her face toward his.
Both the mood and the moment were back. It amazed Peter how profoundly a rendering of those words could still stir her heart.
She touched his forehead, as if anointing it with holy oil. "For nobility and humanity far beyond that of ordinary men, I dub thee, 'Sir Peter, Knight of the Bath, Seventeenth Earl of Parkershire, Member of the Most Holy Order of the Spider'." She was speaking as Cecily.
"Thank you, your majesty. But don't I get a suit of armor out of this deal?"
"You've already got a suit," she whispered as their lips melded together amid showers of imaginary sparks.
"Wow, honey," Peter said as their kiss broke. "One more like that and we'll probably electrocute ourselves."
"Sounds like fun," Mary Jane whispered as her hand drifted across his pectorals. "Would you like me to turn the jets on?"
"That would be nice."
She reached behind her back and pressed a red button on the wall. A low rumble permeated the air as the soapy water started frothing, replacing the bubbles that had already popped.
"This is fabulous, M.J." Peter whispered as he felt the pulsating water jets gently massage the still-tight muscles in his back.
"I see the periscope's up again." Mary Jane said playfully as her hand closed around the pipe sticking out of the churning water.
"Can't help it, Mary Jane. You're just too beautiful."
"Don't even try." She brought herself in close, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Tell me something, Tiger. Does your magic touch work under water?"
"Why don't you tell me?" he replied as he started to run his hands lightly over her chest and stomach.
Mary Jane's giggles, interspersed with moans, gave them the answer. The moans became louder and more frequent as her lover's fingers ran in circles around her torso, displacing the giggles altogether as those fingers slipped below her belly button. Their hips began to undulate as they massaged one other, the reciprocating motions of their bodies sending waves crashing over the side of the tub until they exploded together in a sea of roiling froth.
Afterwards, they reclined against the back of the tub, resting in each other's arms as a feeling of total peace settled over them. Mary Jane's soaking wet tresses draped across Peter's rock-like abdominals as she nestled against him.
" I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record when I tell you that I love you, Mary Jane."
"I hope that record stays broken, Tiger," she replied softly. "Are you in the mood for a whistle-wetter?"
"Sure."
Mary Jane opened the bottle of juice, filled their glasses, and handed Peter his.
"Um . . . what should we drink to, M.J?"
"How about just 'to us'?"
"To us," Peter repeated as they clanged their goblets together.
As Peter tilted his head back to partake of the tart soda, he caught sight of something on the ceiling, a little black dot scuttling rapidly across the white expanse.
"Look at that, Mary Jane."
"What?"
"Right there." He pointed at the corner nearest the door.
"Oh yeah, I see it." Mary Jane watched with quiet fascination as the arachnid detached itself from the ceiling and lowered itself toward the floor by means of an invisible gossamer thread. "A guardian angel?"
"Cousin Ernie," Peter deadpanned, once again sparking his fiancée's infectious giggle.
God, how he loved to make her laugh . . .
Arms and legs still entwined around each other, the two lovers continued to follow the spider with their eyes as it touched the floor and zipped out the door, presumably to escape from the semi-tropical hothouse in which it had suddenly found itself.
A few minutes later, they stepped out of the bath and wrapped a huge towel around themselves. When they finished drying off, Mary Jane turned on the light and blew out the candles while Peter wiped the bathroom floor dry, folded the towel, and hung it over the glass door of the shower stall, along with the top and bottom of his costume.
"Hey, M.J., I just realized something."
Mary Jane had picked up his mask, gloves, and boots laid them neatly on the vanity in the dressing area. "What's that, love?"
"I forgot to carry you over the threshold."
She wanted to tell him that they had to wait until after they were married. But before she could, he had swept her off her feet with one arm and deposited her on the bed. They let the remaining candles burn while they talked, laughed, and made love, tickling each other now and then. By the time the yellow-orange flame from last candle had vanished, they were asleep in each others' arms . . .
. . . blissfully unaware that their secret had already been compromised.