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The Invisible Handjob	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 52206 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own neither Ultimate Spider-Man nor any of the franchise's characters. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
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A/N: I hope you like this last installment of the current arc, which ends the crossover with my Ultimate X-Men fic. More to come soon and thank you for all the comments. Also, my good friend Ksennin is posting his fic here, starting with a fic called Wonder Woman Beginnings and continuing on from there with numerous well-written, porny Marvel and DC fics. He's a good guy and his work is pretty unappreciated, so do give it a look and try to think of something nice to say.

Peter felt his head pound. His phone was ringing in the darkness. No, not his phone. Dial tone was all wrong. His was at least two nuclear explosions quieter. Eyes still shut, he pushed his nice, normal, uncallused hands against his ears. That helped, a little, although moving did not.
He took what stock he could of the situation. Lumpy bed. Couldn’t feel much on his body but the sheets and dry sweat. He opened his eyes painstakingly and the cracked plaster above his head was definitely not the Albert Einstein poster he was used to. Was he actually in Wolverine’s apartment?
Well, he supposed that made sense. Better that than subject Aunt May to a him-sized Wolverine. And, judging by the liquid explosions behind his eyelids during his long, slow blinks, Logan had managed to score some alcohol. A lot of alcohol. A Tony Stark level of alcohol.
The ringing finally stopped, replaced by Logan’s voice. Answering machine message. “You know what to do,” he growled. Beep.
“Heh, Spider, that you? God, you sound like you swallowed a blowtorch. This is, uh, you, right? I suppose you could’ve given me a fake number, but after last night… why the hell would you?”
Black Cat’s voice. He supposed it was inevitable that Logan would run into someone he knew while taking his body for a joyride. At least it wasn’t MJ or Gwen. How much damage could Logan do to his relationship with someone that had vomited at the sight of him?
“Well, maybe you’re still sore about that other time we met… with Hammerhead? Look, I’m sorry about that. Since you didn’t mention it the other night, I assumed you let me off the hook, but I owe you an apology. Kid. I misjudged you, a ton—it’s obvious now that you’re a really old soul and, c’mon, what are you, seventeen? If I ever go to jail, it’s gonna be for a lot worse than popping some high schooler’s cherry. If that was your first time. Sure didn’t feel like it. Mrow.”
Oh, no. No, no, no! Peter tried lifting his head, and cracks like a string of firecrackers popped down his spine. He got a better view of the ceiling. A lot of webbing was hanging from it. And stuff hanging from the webbing. Like… was that a bra? And a stuffed animal?
“So when I see you again… if I see you again… I just want you to know that I’d be very interested in exploring… whatever. And let’s make that soon, huh? I’d love it if you could destroy my ass again sometime this week.”
Peter put a hand to his pounding head. It didn’t help. Or it did help, a little, but what was profoundly unhelpful was the realization that his head was entirely shaved. Either Logan was very petty or he’d needed chemotherapy in the couple of hours Logan had spent in his body. Peter ran his hand over his body, checking for any piercings. No, no, and no. And it didn’t feel like any tattoos either—they’d still be all red and sore and probably even bandaged, right? It wasn’t like he could have I’m Spider-Man tattooed on his forehead and not know it.
Alright. Shaved head. Frightening-sounding sex with Black Cat. Fair’s fair in love and body-swaps. He moved his other hand to wipe some of the crud out of his eyes.
The handcuff jingled around his wrist.
Okay, that was just childish. He was Spider-Man! He could just break the handcuff, and that was just a waste of a perfectly good handcuff, he could’ve spent that money on books for disadvantaged youths or something, what was the point of handcuffing Spider-Man to nothing at all judging by the amount of slack on the…
Pulling on it dislodged the slender wrist it was attached from the pile of blankets and cushions at his side. Peter tried very hard to look on the bright side. Good news: it was still attached to someone’s body. Good news: That someone was breathing. Good news: That someone was a woman. And not a bad woman to be handcuffed to, lookswise. Everything else-wise, yes, given that she was Elektra Natchios, the Kingpin’s chief enforcer-cum-assassin.
And she was naked, in his bed, asleep and… grinning.
Concentrating on being quiet even harder than when all he’d had to worry about was a hangover, Peter looked around for a key. It was amazing he’d managed to fall asleep next to her without waking up with a sai in his chest. Like riding on the subway with Bill O’Reilly and not hearing anything about the War on Christmas. But he wasn’t going to push his luck. He’d find the key, unlock himself, and although he hated to be ungentlemanly, he was going to get the fuck out of there before the crazy lady woke—
“Mmm. Morning.”
Good news: Elektra wasn’t awake. Bad news: The woman on the other side of him was. Worse news: It was Silver Sable, the woman who’d been hunting him for sport the last week. Lot of that going around, apparently. Worst/good news: She was as naked as Elektra.
“You’re up early,” Sable said, shifting her head so it was resting on his slender chest. She ran a finger down his front. Nope, he wasn’t wearing a thing, which was way more than he wanted to know about Wolverine’s sleeping arrangements.
Though he could stand to hear a little more about the company. Questions like How? and HOW? sprang to mind.
Then Sable found what she was looking for. Well, at least he was wearing something down there. A ribbon. It did not make him feel very prized.
“Mmm.” Sable moaned. “Up very early.”
So sue him. His reaction to waking up with two beautiful naked women wasn’t I wonder what’s new on Netflix Instant.
“And sleeping beauty’s still out,” she continued with a faint lick across his cheek. “Looks like I’ve got you all to myself for now. Tell you what. Do that thing you did to me last night just one more time and I’ll forget I ever saw you. Unless you want to meet Roxxon in the altogether.” She felt something against her hand. Not the hand she was leaning her head on. “My, my, Spider. I’ll take that as a yes…”
***
Silver Sable walked down the streets of New York knowing exactly how she looked. Hair a mess. Clothes wrinkled. Bra missing because it was in a waste bin somewhere, in four or five pieces. Let them stare. When the sex was as good as it had been, she almost wanted to brag about it. Last night, with Elektra… then again, one-on-one, and that was even better once he dumped the lame frat boy stuff. Just let himself be ridden…
Shaking herself of the memory before she could go back and help herself to more, Sable pulled her phone from her pocket and hit the quick-dial for Roxxon. She would never call sex that good a wash, but the fact was, she had actually gotten some business done overnight—not that she’d ever put those hours on her ledger. She knew Spider-Man’s face now, if not his name. She knew his measurements; every measurement. And with all the scratching, the biting, the slapping—she didn’t think he’d even noticed…
Mr. Roxxon picked up on the first dial—one of the few qualities she admired about him. “Don’t tell me. You picked up Flash Thompson again.”
“Har har.” Sable cradled her smartphone against her shoulder as she hailed a cab. “I’m calling to say mission accomplished. Job’s done. Spider-Man has been injected with your precious symbiote. The rest is all up to you.”
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The Invisible Handjob