When The Sun Is Shining 2 (Patreon)

“I don’t think Felicia would really want that,” Peter said gently. “She’s happy being a thief. Real happy. And I wouldn’t be happy living with a thief. We’ve made as much peace with that as we can, but there’s always going to be that wall.”

“And there isn’t with us?” Mary Jane asked. “When I hate you being Spider-Man—”

“You don’t hate it.”

“Sometimes I hate it,” Mary Jane insisted. “When I worry about you, I hate it. When I’m proud of you, I don’t. Well, not so much.”

“Who wouldn’t feel that way?” Peter assured her. “Who wouldn’t worry?”

His hands ran smoothly over her, rubbing the lotion into her shoulders knowingly. Taking away her knotted up tension with his hands as much as he was with his voice. Mary Jane tried to let herself drift down into the comfortable stupor she knew Peter wanted for her—relaxed like she should be when they had a moment of peace to themselves.

But as sweet as his hands felt on her, the thoughts that filled up her head were nice and jagged.

“Gwen would’ve accepted you. She would’ve loved it. Her man, the hero. She wouldn’t keep… doubting you.”

“It’s not doubting me to be afraid. You think it’s doubt when I get scared for you?” Peter rubbed all over her shoulders and then moved lower. “It’s because you love me. I hate it, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No? If you had to do it all over again, you wouldn’t end up with Captain Marvel? Totally invincible? Never have to worry about her, not ever, and she wears thigh-high boots with that swimsuit that runs up between her cheeks like—”

Mary Jane couldn’t think up a metaphor. She felt all languid, sleepy, barely able to work up the power to speak. Peter’s massage felt too nice. Melting her back muscles down into the same humid wetness that permeated her lower body, that felt just like the lotion he was rubbing into her flesh, so warm, so much like Peter’s love itself being caressed into a body that was starving for it…

“She wears that new costume now,” Peter pointed out, very casual. “It’s much less becoming. I’m going to undo your top now. I need it out of the way.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mary Jane went drowsily, like she couldn’t even think of what he was saying.

Dimly she felt him undoing that one slender strap of her bikini top. The parted ends slithered down her flanks and stopped touching her. She wondered if he expected her to roll over and show him what he’d married. Nuh-uh, not in public. But she let herself sigh in pleasure when Peter’s hands rubbed over her now defenseless back.

“And Carol goes into as much danger as I do. I’d worry about her more. At least you run and hide when aliens invade. Carol would fly right into the flying saucer fleet. Which is very noble of her, but sheesh. I have a hard enough time accepting Felicia going into battle, and we’re just friends. You fighting aliens would put me on Prozac.”

“How do you think I feel?” Mary Jane groused.

“Endlessly gracious, the same way you act.”

“Cissy Ironwood.”

Peter’s hands paused. “How do you even know about her? I don’t think you were even in New York for that.”

“Betty caught me up.”

“Oh, Betty,” Peter sighed. “This is what I get for being friends with a reporter.”

“And we’ll get to her.”

“We will?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“Am I allowed to change my mind or is that solely a female prerogative?”

“Uhh, you’re allowed to keep touching me if you answer my questions twenty-eight.”

“Geez, was that a movie reference to a script?”

“Actress,” Mary Jane answered springily.

“Okay, okay, but if we’re going to talk about something as intimate as Cissy Ironwood—”

Suddenly she felt Peter’s hands on the upper slopes of her ass, just above her bikini bottoms. His touch moved briskly, professionally, but she sensed there’d be no end to the thoroughness with which he’d oil her up. Even as his hands crept lower and lower.

Well, if he wanted to tease, she could tease back. She was a model; she’d practically invented teasing. And what did Peter do after he’d put on his skintight spandex?

Quite a lot, Mary Jane remember, as his fingers darted under her bottoms, all part of the massage… except for the part where he was rubbing and squeezing her buttocks, which felt like something else entirely.

Mary Jane grinned to herself. For a masseuse, this would be nothing—something about how it was Peter made all of this sly and slinky and overall seductive.

“Cissy Ironwood,” she insisted, with a little shimmy of her hips to tell him that he could grope her all she liked (he liked, she corrected herself), but she would get her answers.

“Nice girl, very pretty, but we just didn’t have that spark. I’m sorry about how it ended, her dad’s death and all, but it would’ve ended anyway. That was just how it happened.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“With your spy reports from Betty Brant?”

“I wasn’t spying on you. I was keeping up on gossip. Can I help it if so many people around you lead such interesting lives?”

“Uh-huh. If you love gossip so much, how’s Jolly Jonah doing?”

“Peter, there’s a limit.”

“And it’s limited to pretty girls that might be hanging out with me?”

“Stop getting pretty girls to fall in love with you and there won’t be as much gossip.”

“You’re projecting. Believe it or not, there are plenty of women who don’t fall head over heels for me the way you have.”

Mary Jane’s heart pounded. A lot of her felt like it was glowing red-hot, and not just where Peter was touching. Maybe I’m sick. One sick ginger puppy. Does it really excite me to be jealous? Or is it just knowing that out of all the contenders, I won the cup?

She couldn’t stop herself from coming alive with all of Peter’s kneading of her. “Speaking of Betty Brant…” she prompted, hoping to distract him, wondering if his spider-sense would clue him in to how sweaty she was getting, how her breath didn’t seem to be able to puff in and out of her with any quietness.

“Her I actually did date, so you’re closer to the mark than Carol or Liz, at least.”

“You didn’t date Liz?”

“I’m not calling it that. And if we’re going to relitigate that, how many times were we dating without dating?”

“In hindsight?” Mary Jane thought about it. Then shook her head. “No. Not getting into that. Can of worms. We’re going to stay married until we die, go to Heaven, and get an answer from God.”

“And if you don’t like it, you’ll argue it out with Him,” Peter quipped immediately.

Mary Jane would’ve commented that if anyone was sacrilegious in their family, it was probably the man who had gotten into fistfights with a few gods… but that was when she felt him inching down her bottoms, gradually exposing her derriere as his work continued.

“Mary Jane, you don’t have much of a tan here,” he chuckled. “What kind of model are you?”

“The kind who doesn’t have time to visit a tanning salon when the only one who’s going to see the results are her loving husband.”

“I feel slighted.”

“See it more often. I’ll make more of an effort.”

“You make a compelling offer.” Peter untied the two bows that held her bottoms together.

“Very compelling,” MJ muttered as she felt him pull the bikini away from her. “Since you’re the one paying for those salon appointments.”

“Why not? I seem to enjoy them the most.”

The sun felt a lot warmer than it had been, shining on her where she was all white and bare. Not that she felt very white with how she was blushing. She closed her eyes, as if in some way that would hide her from view. Or maybe it was just allowing Peter to safeguard their privacy, knowing he would never allow her to be embarrassed. So she didn’t have to worry about that. Or anything at all.

“You’re suffering from your own success,” Peter said, beginning to give her some lotion to protect her from the sun—though she felt like she needed far more protection from a certain wallcrawler. “I see that all-over tan and all I can think is that it really should be all over. Every inch of your body deserves to be nice and bronze.”

There was no denying it; he was rubbing suntan lotion into her ass. It was way too much to happen out in the open and if she was even slightly image-conscious, Mary Jane should put a stop to it… but all her energy was tied up in this strange debate they were having. She had none to stop him with.

Somehow, having his possessive hands all over her, hungering for her, made it easier to talk about other women. The women she worried had a claim on him that superseded her own.

“I notice we’ve drifted away from talking Betty Brant,” Mary Jane said, finding herself shamelessly enjoying her massage while also needling Peter about his past loves. He cupped her pert buttocks in his strong hands and really squeezed, molding them to the shape of his gripping fingers like they would never be touched by anyone else.

Maybe that was what felt so wonderful to her—though not wonderful enough to get Mary Jane to open her legs and let him see more than he was touching. She knew where that would lead. If she wasn’t careful, she and he would do something he’d enjoy and she’d have a panic attack over later.

“Did you ever do this with Felicia?” Mary Jane asked suddenly.

“I thought we were talking about Betty.”

“Real quick.”

“No, MJ. She’s really not that kinky.”

“Oh, please.”

“I know she’s hot, I know she likes to dress, uh…”

“Like she doesn’t like dressing?” Mary Jane suggested.

“Well. Maybe,” Peter said with reluctant acceptance. “But you and I have actually done a lot more than I got up to with Felicia. Maybe it’s because of this thing she had about being arrested, but she would never let me use my webs to—”

“Don’t bring that up. We’re getting off-topic.”

“I’m not,” Peter said, and his busy fingers went lower, into the cleft of her ass. But not too far.

Mary Jane didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. He just spread some lotion there and left.

If you can keep a cool head, so can I. “Betty Brant. Your first love.”

“First crush, maybe.”

“Not Liz?”

“I hated her too much to have a crush on her. She beat me up!”

“Peter, she’s five foot nine.”

“This was in grade school. And girls develop faster than boys.”

“Yeah, right. I’m still waiting to get superpowers.”

“You don’t have any? Then how come you seem to control my mind whenever I look at you…”

And Mary Jane felt a teasing touch somewhere that would usually take a lot of teasing for her to let him touch. “Oh, I don’t have any control over you, tiger.”

Peter went on to rub her thighs. Mary Jane let out a deep sigh.

“Betty’s great. I really liked her. But there’s so much history gumming up the works now. Her brother, Ned, and all that work stuff… I’m really comfortable just being friends with her.”

“And we don’t have history?” Mary Jane asked, feeling uncomfortably like she was spoiling for a fight. Like she’d been all worked up to tell Peter to stop, but he knew her too well, he’d gone right up to the limit with her and then stopped before making her uncomfortable. Except that she wouldn’t have minded being uncomfortable if it meant…

Well, she could always tell him to take her downstairs and do a few of those things that apparently he’d never done with Felicia. Except she wanted to have it out with him on this, when it was so light and cozy and… and not a screaming match.

That was when it hit her. They were talking about the sort of thing that would have her parents punching a hole in the wall or throwing something through a window, yet everything Peter said was as gentle as his hands. It was all…

It was all how she’d never believed it could be, back when she didn’t believe in love.