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Do It For Charity	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 26029 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel comics, Spider-Man, the Avengers, or any of the characters within those properties. I make no money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
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“This reminds me of something,” Mary Jane said, referring to the room in disarray that Gwen was already clearing up, the scattered bits of clothing, and the woman tied to the wall with webbing. “Oh yeah, I think it was the last time we met.”
“That had a much better pay-off,” Felicia said, still pulling at her bonds, now aiming a razor-edged smile at Mary Jane.
The redhead smiled with her own fond memories. “It certainly did.”
“I was talking about the pearl necklace I got away with while you were all loved up.”
Gwen dropped the lampshade she was fixing. “When was this?”
“After we had that talk about open relationships,” Mary Jane said gently. Gwen grumbled as she went back to her salvage operation and Mary Jane faced Felicia once more, now taking a nail file out of her purse. It was chemically treated to cut through webbing. She started sawing at the webbing that Felicia was straitjacketed with. “Speaking of relationships, this doesn’t look like a good first date.”
Felicia flipped her hair in a huff—about the only thing she could do at the moment. “I did exactly like you told me. I came in, picked up a few souvenirs—“ Felicia eyed Gwen appraisingly. “You have great taste in panties, by the way. Love the Darth Vader ones.”
Gwen’s spine stiffened, but a look from Mary Jane had her relaxed and back to cleaning.
“And?” MJ prompted.
“I let Parker walk in on me, I start in on him, and you know the routine. ‘Oh, please, don’t turn me into the cops. Can’t we make some kind of deal?’” Felicia was free enough to bend at the waist so that her charms (the largest in the room, and it was a hard race) were even more on display than they already were.
“I remember,” Mary Jane nodded, lost in the sight.
Gwen cleared her throat. She didn’t consider it an open relationship when she was in the room.
“Well, Freaks & Geeks was having none of it. And I tried. Hard. I was practically giving him a lapdance before he found one of your goddamned webshooters and gave me a blast.”
“This is why I’m best friends with him,” Gwen said in a smugly sing-song tone.
“Look at me!” Felicia cried. “I have goo in my hair!” She looked around to see if either of them would make the easy pun, but neither did. “Anyway, he left to call you guys—didn’t even want to be alone with me in case I felt ‘uncomfortable’—and now here we are. And me doing everything short of taking out an ad on Craigslist to let him know he could feel me up while I was--” Felicia wiggled demonstrably.
“This is bad,” Mary Jane said.
“I don’t know…” Gwen joined her, carrying some of Felicia’s discarded clothes under her arm. “I think she goes well with the curtains.”
Felicia was loose enough to wiggle free, not caring that she left her catsuit behind her. She grabbed her gloves and such from Gwen, pulling them on carefully oblivious to the effect her near-nudity had on the two women. Mary Jane, obviously, was intrigued, while Gwen was determinedly interested in the refrigerator.
Felicia tried to figure out what she’d be fingering after she left: herself or MJ.
“Are you sure he’s, you know… ‘my type’?”
“Your type?” Gwen asked.
“You know… someone who has sex with women.”
“He definitely likes girls,” Mary Jane said. “I flashed him once and he was definitely not thinking about how great my boobs would look in a sequin dot blouse.”
“When was this?” Gwen demanded.
“Mardi Gras.”
“You’ve never been to Mardi Gras!”
“Mardi Gras isn’t a place, it’s a state of mind,” Felicia insisted, and MJ pointed at her in agreement. “Anyway, sorry I couldn’t help.” Now she turned to pull her suit free. An activity that didn’t necessarily require her to bend over so far, but why not? “He seemed really cute. And polite, when he wasn’t pasting me to the walls. Just let him know that if he wants a second date, we’ll have to work out a safe word first.”
“And since when do you do ‘safe’?” MJ asked.
Felicia winked at her. “Never. But, ah…” she glanced at Gwen, “some people find it comforting. I’ll see myself out. Catch you at the Ball later?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Not,” Gwen corrected.
Felicia walked out of the apartment with her suit slung over her shoulder like a towel in a locker room; bra and boots and panties and gloves. And mask, of course. Mary Jane smiled. The mask always stayed on.
“I feel like such a bad feminist for hating her,” Gwen said when the door was safely shut. “She’s funnier than me, she has bigger boobs than me, and boys like her more than me—I can barely tolerate that from Jennifer Lawrence, but from her?”
Mary Jane patted her on the head. “Let’s stay focused. We pretty much threw Peter into a porn movie and he still couldn’t get laid. It’s time to bring out the big guns.”
“Who would even have bigger guns than her?”
“Tony Stark.”
“Tony… oh.” Gwen shook her head of a surprisingly intriguing mental image. “Wait, no, no. The last time Tony came over, I ended up posing nude for a series of black and white photographs.”
“They were tasteful and artistic,” Mary Jane said. “And you looked like Emma Stone.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But that could just be the girlfriend in me talking.”
Gwen hummed in adoration. “Okay. So you just want to sic Tony on Peter?”
“No, not quite… I want to give Peter my pass to the Ball.”
“The Ball?” Gwen repeated, throwing her head up. “C’mon, MJ, that place is—“
Mary Jane waved her hands as if in surrender. “I barely go there. I much prefer spending time with you. But when you’re buried in your books, it’s a good way to spend a weekend. That’s all. And it’s for charity!”
“Pfft,” Gwen went. “I’ve seen you coming home from there. People don’t wear that kind of thing to give to starving orphans.”
“Maybe they should. The orphans weren’t complaining.”
Gwen threw up her own hands, moving to sag into an easy chair. Mary Jane hovered nearby, wanting to sit down on her lap as was their happy custom, but wanting the proto-argument done with first.
“That’s another thing,” Gwen continued, on a tangent. “You know Peter. He has no money. What’s he going to give to charity?”
“That’s the beauty of it, G. Each of the Ball’s members gets one freebie to put on the List. You, obviously, don’t want to be on the List, so I’ll just put Peter down. He can bill everything to SHIELD.”
Gwen’s head folded into her hands. “Oh my God, you have the details worked out. You’re really going through with it.”
“Well, it could count as a combined birthday and Christmas present from both of us. Save us some money, and you know how hard Peter is to shop for…”
Gwen sighed. “Make the call.”
“Ha-ha!” Mary Jane cried triumphantly, throwing herself atop Gwen. “You’re awesome. You are my awesome girlfriend.”
“Cut it out!” Gwen said as MJ smothered her with kisses, her beautiful girlfriend replaced by an overly affectionate puppy for an instant. “First, get the phone call over with. Then you can work out all your Black Cat frustrations on me.”
“Oh, you were looking too,” MJ said, running her cheek along Gwen’s cleavage as she pulled away, her feet carrying her on a beeline to the phone…
***
It wasn’t that Peter didn’t like girls. He loved them. Wasn’t at all sure how some guys could go for other guys when there were girls, although of course that was their lifestyle and it was perfectly natural and really not any of his business. But now girls—like his good friend Gwen and his good friend Mary Jane and, just now, a somewhat frightening cat burglar who’d shown more cleavage than the scrambled porn channels he’d seen as a kid. He would very much to take any of those beautiful ladies out on a nice date, or to see a movie, or to drink coffee, or climb rocks, or whatever they were comfortable with.
He just didn’t want to be a macho jerk asshole like Flash Thompson about it. Flash Thompson, who grabbed girls’ asses in the school hallway, leered at them in the street, made sexist comments online. If that, as the dubious theory went, was what girls were into, then he’d rather die a virgin.
Although the scary cat burglar lady had offered to prevent that. But she was, in fact, so eager to have sex with him, a perfect stranger, that he couldn’t help but conclude she had some kind of behavioral disorder. Nymphomania or something, which was a very real problem. It’d practically be rape to take advantage of someone in her condition.
Still, maybe when she got out of the mental ward, he could check up on her. Purely as a friend. Anything else and, gosh, what would Aunt May say?
This and similar thoughts tormented Peter on the ten-block walk from his bus stop to ESU. His mind would paw the same well-worn tracks—Mary Jane asking him if he wanted to see her tits and him saying yes off-guard and her flashing him; that time Gwen had drunkenly kissed him on New Year’s; pretty much all of the fifteen minutes he’d spent with that white-haired cat burglar (White Cat?). He would’ve jerked off that morning if he didn’t just know it would make things worse… make him feel pathetic and guilty in addition to undersexed.
He was on his fifth attempt to switch over his train of thought—not even recalling how bad the Star Wars prequels were was helping—when a high-end Audi pulled to a stop at his segment of the sidewalk like it was a pit stop at the Indy 500 and he was expected to change the tires. The window came down as fast as a pen being clicked and Peter saw the world’s most famous goatee.
“Get in, loser, we’re going shopping,” Tony Stark said.
All of Peter’s mind stopped functioning except for the bit that told him this wouldn’t normally happen. A conclusion leapt to him. “Wait… wait… how do I know you’re not the Chameleon, trying to get me alone?”
“Hmmm… if I was a shapeshifter who could take on any identity, I would be me,” Tony conceded. Then grinned: “The lovely and talented Ms. Watson sent me. She says: ‘face it, tiger, you just hit the jackpot.’”
Peter’s reluctance ceded control of his body to the 99% of him that was geeking out over going on a car ride with Tony Stark. He didn’t know why Mary Jane had set him up on a playdate and he didn’t care. Tony fucking Stark!
Inside, the car was an oasis from the perfectly pleasant day outside. The air conditioning was somehow even better, there was a vague scent of the sea that was just charming, and there was a computer built into the dashboard. Peter buckled himself in with a series of straps that looked like they belonged on a NASCAR racer.
“My insurance company insists,” Tony explained. “It’s either that or I stop going at triple digits. So, you’re Red’s mechanic?”
“Mechanic?” Peter repeated, like it was a word from a foreign language.
“Her guy. Her man Friday. The dude who makes the Starbucks run. I’m Rescue’s mechanic, Clint is Black Widow’s… well, actually he’s her ‘handler’, but I’m not calling him that, it’s so Tom Clancy.” Tony rolled his arms and, as if belatedly realizing something, stepped on the gas. The car accelerated to sixty in as many nanoseconds, sliding into a gap in traffic like a knife between ribs. “You know what they say: Behind every great woman is a great man, with a great view of her ass.”
“I… haven’t heard anyone else say that.”
“I’m an early adopter. Always have been. Brace yourself.” Tony hit a button on the gearshift and they rocked through an intersection while the light was halfway between yellow and red.
“Was that nitro?” Peter asked.
“If the cops ask, no.” Tony shifted seamlessly back to their—Peter guessed it could be called a conversation. “Mechanic, Parker! Noun! Think of it this way--sure, the car’s doing all the work, but the mechanic is what keeps it running. Thor shows Thunderstrike how to fight, even though he doesn’t have powers. Bruce Banner calms She-Hulk down when she’s had a bit too much gamma radiation. Steve Rogers—“ Tony shook his head suddenly. “I don’t know what he really does for Captain Britain. I’m thinking oral sex?”
“Wait, uh…” Peter blinked. He was very aware of blinking. He hoped Tony wouldn’t take it as an affront. “What are we talking about, exactly?”
“It’s a thankless job, being a mechanic. Less benefits than a Foxconn worker. But there is one redeeming quality.”
“Helping in some small way to make the world a better place.”
“Fuck you,” Tony said gently. “I mean the Ball.”
He wrenched the Audi into a curve that nearly had Peter in Tony’s lap, were it not for him having more straps on than a Final Fantasy character.
“The Ball is what would happen if charity weren’t designed by pussies. I mean that in a nice way.”
“It doesn’t seem like it?”
“But obviously we’re not going to take you looking like that. I mean, c’mon, how many pairs of jean shorts do you own?”
“Just one!” Peter protested.
Tony pulled off his sunglasses and gave Peter such a long stare that Peter became worried they were going to hit a baby carriage or something. But Tony got his eyes back on the road before that happened.
“I can’t do anything about you being a nerd,” Tony said, “but there’s a difference between being a nerd in an 80s teen movie and being a nerd in a show on the CW.”
“You mean being a male model who happens to wear glasses instead of contacts?”
“You know of the invention of contact lenses. Good. I had doubts. P.S. You’re going to wear cardigans, Peter. You’re going to wear a lot of cardigans. Aaaand we’re here,” Tony said, pulling to a stop literally in front of the door to a clothing boutique whose name Peter couldn’t even pronounce. Tony slid out of the car and tossed his keys to a teen passerby. “Park that for me, would you? Be honest, take it for a joyride, but if it’s not back in half an hour I’m reporting it stolen. To the Avengers.”
Before Peter could even parse how that was going to work, Tony had propelled him inside the boutique. It was for men, though Peter could only tell this because none of the mannequins were female.
“Shopcreature!” Tony called, which Peter didn’t think was the name of the pretty young sales assistant who came over. “Get this man into something that would make him a dating prospect. If not, at least someone you would let your younger sister see without passive-aggressively sabotaging their relationship.”
The woman took one look at him. “I’m thinking cardigans.”
“I know, right?”
“Do I get any say in this?” Peter asked.
“Do you know how to tie a bowtie?” was Tony’s answer.
The woman scanned Peter with a laser, which he enjoyed, obviously, then told Tony a wardrobe would be ready in two hours. Tony thanked her, gave Peter a brisk tap on the chin, then pulled a handkerchief to wipe off his hand. “Ever hear of skincare, kid?”
“I think I saw that as an autofill on Google once,” Peter said sarcastically.
“Let’s get you to the spa. It’ll give us some time for bald-faced exposition.”
“Eh?”
“You know, a history lesson?” Tony took off his sunglasses, which Peter hadn’t noticed him putting back on. “Sorry, started a studio last week, I’m still in a bit of a producer headspace. Say, would you watch a gritty reboot of Pinocchio?”
“No.”
“Origin story for Monstro the Whale?”
“No!”
“How’d you like a job? You’re already better at it than Tom Rothman.”
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Do It For Charity