Chapter 38 : New Rules – Intense Discussion
New York, Queens – Alex's POV
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as we finally let our emotions out. The tension that had been building for weeks seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. Gwen leaned back slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips, and I found myself returning it.
"So," I said, trying to keep my tone light, "I think it's time we go over the Spider Woman rules again. Make sure we're on the same page."
She chuckled softly. "Fine. Let's hear them."
"Rule one," I began, smiling at her, "you can patrol without me, but you have to give me a heads-up so I can erase your trail afterward. Rule two, no high-risk interventions unless I'm right there to back you up. No solo stunts in situations where I can't help."
Gwen nodded thoughtfully. "Got it. Fair. I can live with that."
"And," I added with a teasing grin, "rule three: this gives me more time to… develop my powers."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she laughed. "Oh, I see. And let me guess… Mary Jane would be absolutely thrilled to help you with that?"
I shrugged, keeping the grin in place. "Funny you should mention her. That's exactly what I had in mind."
Gwen rolled her eyes, laughing again. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," I admitted, "but at least I'm honest about it."
We shared a moment, a quiet laugh, the tension of earlier fully replaced by a comfortable, teasing rhythm. For the first time in weeks, it felt like we were just Alex and Gwen — not Spider Woman and her "man in the chair," but two people figuring things out together.
New York, Manhattan, ESU – Alex's POV,1 week later
A week later, I was back at ESU, weaving through the crowded halls with a single goal in mind: find Mary Jane. It didn't take long before I spotted her, perched casually against a locker, scrolling on her phone.
"MJ," I called, walking over. She looked up, her face lighting up with that familiar grin.
"Alex! Fancy seeing you here," she said, letting her tone linger just a little longer than necessary.
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. "I need to talk to you. Is the studio free after classes?"
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, pretending to ponder. "Hmm… I'd have to check the cosmic schedule of the universe, but yep, it's all yours."
I nodded, appreciating the confirmation. "Great. Then how about we meet there after class? I need a one-on-one."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Ooh, a private meeting, huh? Are we talking business… or something more interesting?" She leaned closer, letting her voice drop, "You know, I could make it very… interesting for you."
I laughed, shaking my head. "MJ! Let's start with a discussion and then we'll see if you've been well-behaved for the rest of the time."
Mary Jane blinked, a little caught off guard by my response, then smirked. "Alright… we'll see about that. I'll meet you there."
New York, Manhattan, Greenwich village – Mary Jane's POV,
The air in the rehearsal space was thick with the lingering scent of old wood, dusty velvet curtains, and the faint, sweet perfume of yesterday's incense. It was a smell that was, for all intents and purposes, home. I stood there, one foot propped up on the edge of the rickety stage, my scuffed boots tapping absently against the worn floorboards. My fingers idly traced the neck of my guitar, though I hadn't played a note yet. The silence wrapped around me like a warm, comforting shroud, a rare moment of stillness.
I stood there, my fingers still absentmindedly tracing the neck of my guitar, as I glanced down at my outfit. It was my usual—a faded band tee that I'd worn so many times it felt like a second skin, soft and comforting against my body. The fabric clung just enough to hint at the curves underneath, the neckline dipping slightly to reveal the faintest glimpse of my collarbone. High-waisted jeans hugged my hips snugly, the kind of fit that made me feel grounded yet confident, like I could face anything. But today, there was something about the way I'd dressed that felt deliberate, almost too intentional.
My hair, a cascade of fiery red waves, fell over my shoulders in unruly tendrils, catching the pale light filtering through the studio's cracked windows. I'd caught myself earlier in the mirror, tugging a few strands into a loose braid to keep them out of my face, only to let the rest flow free—wild and uncontrolled, just like the thoughts swirling in my head. My reflection had stared back at me, unflinching, as I adjusted the hem of my shirt, smoothing it down over my hips. Did it look right? I wondered. Was it too casual? Too revealing?
I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that this wasn't just another day. My eyes darted to the cracked mirror across the room, catching a fragmented glimpse of myself. My thighs, strong from years of dancing and running, my arms toned from hauling gear—they were reminders of who I was, of what I'd built. But there were flaws too, little imperfections that made me feel raw and exposed. A faint scar on my collarbone from a stumble during a show years ago, a scattering of freckles across my nose that no makeup could hide—these were mine, marks of a life lived boldly.
Yet, as I stood there, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of uncertainty. Was I overthinking this? Maybe. But something about today felt different, like the air itself was charged with an unspoken tension. I tugged at the hem of my shirt again, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, my breath catching slightly in my chest. I needed to look right, to feel right, even if I wasn't entirely sure why.
My thoughts drifted lazily, as they often did in moments like this—to music, to my upcoming midterm, and, if I was being brutally honest, a lot about him. Alex. Even the mere thought of his name sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of excitement and uncertainty that I couldn't quite shake. I wasn't sure what it was about him—his confidence, his intensity, or the way he seemed to see right through me—but it was impossible to ignore. And yet, there was something else, something deeper that I couldn't quite put into words.
The heavy studio door creaked open, slicing through the quiet. A shaft of afternoon light cut across the dusty room, and he stepped into it.
Alex.
My fingers stilled on the imaginary fretboard. He filled the doorway, not just with his frame, which was undeniably impressive—broad shoulders straining against the plain cotton of his dark t-shirt, lean hips, a sort of relaxed, athletic grace in the way he moved—but with a presence. It was a quiet storm contained within calm eyes. He didn't just enter a room; he occupied it, and the very atmosphere seemed to shift, to tighten and crackle with a new, unwritten energy.
"MJ," he said, and his voice was just as I remembered it. A low, resonant frequency that vibrated somewhere deep in my chest.
"Alex." I kept my tone light, casual, a shield against the sudden, unwelcome flutter in my stomach. Get a grip, Watson. He's just a guy.
He walked further in, his steps soundless on the rug. He stopped a few feet from the stage, close enough that I could see the subtle definition of his forearms, the way his jeans sat low on his hips. Stop it. I ordered myself. But my gaze was traitorous, drinking him in.
"You said you needed to talk about something important," I prompted, swinging my legs gently. "Gwen okay?"
"Gwen is… more than okay." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare glimpse of something like uncertainty in his otherwise unshakable composure. "That's actually what I'm here to talk about. Us. You. Me. Her."
A cold knot tightened in my gut, a stark contrast to the warmth that spread through me as he stepped closer. This is it, the moment I've been dreading and craving. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me, the air between us thickening with unspoken tension. I knew—had always known—that Alex and Gwen were a couple. They were solid, unshakable, and yet, here we were. My rehearsed, cool-girl response lingered on the tip of my tongue, but the words felt hollow now, like they didn't belong in this charged space.
I braced myself, my fingers tightening around the neck of my guitar as if it could steady me. The part of me that had been silently hoping, waiting, was now at war with the logical voice reminding me of the boundaries I shouldn't cross. But boundaries had a way of blurring when it came to him. I took a shallow breath, my pulse quickening as I waited for him to speak, torn between wanting to hear the words and dreading what they might mean.
"And she knows, I think, how you might feel about me." Alex's voice dropped lower, almost a murmur, as he took a deliberate step closer. The space between us shrank, the air thickening with the heat of his proximity. My breath hitched, my fingers tightening instinctively around the neck of my guitar as if it could anchor me. He leaned in, just slightly, but enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence radiating against me. His eyes, dark and unyielding, captured mine, holding them hostage.
I blinked. This was not the script I had prepared for. "What are you talking about, Alex?"
He took a half-step closer. The air between us hummed, though I'd be damned if I used that word. It was a taut wire, thrumming with unspoken things. "She doesn't see this as a choice. She sees it as an… expansion. She wants… she wants me to have a harem, MJ."
The word landed in the dusty silence between us, absurd and ancient and terrifyingly alluring. I couldn't stop the disbelieving laugh that escaped me. "A harem? Are you serious? Like, sultans and concubines? What century is this?"
"I'm completely serious," he said, his voice low and steady, devoid of any trace of humor. The gravity of his tone pulled me back from the edge of disbelief. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, and I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline. The proximity made my pulse race, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"She wants me to have sex with other women. She wants to watch it—" His voice dropped to a near whisper, and I felt a shiver run down my spine— "or at least hear about it afterward. She's willing to let this go as far as it needs to. If feelings develop, she wants you to become one of my wives. If it stays purely physical, then you'd be one of my…" He paused, searching for the right word, but it hung in the air between us before he even said it. "Concubines."
The word lingered, heavy and charged, like a declaration that couldn't be taken back. My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel the flush creeping up my neck. Alex didn't pull away; instead, he leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing against my ear as he added, "And Gwen… she wants to be the Queen of my harem. She wants to lead this. She wants you to be part of this"
My heart was doing a frantic, staccato rhythm against my ribs. I looked away, focusing on a crack in the plaster wall. This is insane. This is… My mind, usually so quick with a sarcastic retort, was completely, utterly blank. All I could focus on was the heat radiating from his body, the sheer magnetic pull of him. I'd fantasized about his hands on me, his mouth, about the rumors of his… capacity. But this? This was something else entirely.
"You know I'm interested," I said quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. I was surprised by my own admission. "In… that. The physical part. That's not a secret. But this… this is emotions. This is Gwen. My friend. This is messy, Alex."
"I know it is," he agreed, his voice soft yet unwavering. "And I would never push you into something you weren't certain of. But I need to know what you feel. Not just the… attraction. But what's in here." He gestured vaguely toward my chest, toward my heart hammering behind my ribs.
I met his eyes again, and the intensity there was almost too much to bear. It was like he was seeing every conflicted, hungry, frightened part of me. "I don't know," I whispered, the truth torn from me. "I really don't. You confuse me. This whole thing… it's…"
"Then don't decide," he said, closing the final distance between us. He was right in front of me now, his thighs almost brushing my knees on the stage edge. I had to tilt my head up to look at him. "Just agree to try. To see how it goes. No expectations. No pressure. Just… see what this could be."
The offer hung in the air, shimmering and dangerous. It was a door opening to a world I'd only glimpsed in my most private thoughts. A world of him. And her. And me. The potential for heartbreak was astronomical. The potential for… more was equally terrifying.
I swallowed, my mouth dry. "Just… try?"
"Just try," he echoed, his voice a low promise.
A slow, thrilling panic mixed with a dizzying excitement began to unspool within me. This was crazy. This was absolutely, certifiably crazy. And I had never wanted anything more in my life.
"Okay," I heard myself say, the word feeling both alien and inevitable. "Okay, I'll try."
A slow, devastating smile spread across his face, a smile that promised everything I'd ever secretly wanted. He leaned in, his body blocking out the rest of the room. I could smell his clean, simple scent—soap and him. His lips didn't go to mine. Instead, they moved to my ear, his breath a warm caress against my skin that made my eyes flutter shut.
His voice was the softest, most possessive whisper, a secret for me alone. "Then understand something, Mary Jane… once I finally make you mine, once I truly possess you…" He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, a thundercloud about to break. "You won't ever want to escape me. You won't be able to remember what it was like to live without me." His breath was warm against my ear, sending shivers cascading down my spine. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it, each beat echoing the anticipation coursing through me.
He leaned back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark and unrelenting. "And I know you, MJ. I know you want this. You want to be possessed, to completely submit—you're craving it." His words were a blade, cutting through every defense I had, laying me bare. My breath hitched, my lips parting slightly as if to protest, but no sound came out. He was right, and the truth of it burned through me like wildfire.
I could feel my cheeks flush, the heat spreading down my neck and chest. My fingers tightened around the edge of the stage beneath me, my nails digging into the wood as if it could ground me. But there was no escaping the pull of his words, the magnetic force of his presence. My body betrayed me, leaning ever so slightly toward him, drawn in by the promise in his voice. He knows, I thought, a thrill of both panic and excitement tightening in my chest. He sees me, all of me.
His hand brushed against my knee, the touch light but electric, sending a jolt through me that made my breath catch. "Tell me I'm wrong," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, a challenge that sent a surge of heat pooling low in my stomach.
I couldn't. I wouldn't. Instead, I breathed, "You're not wrong." The admission was barely audible, but it felt like a fracture in the dam holding back everything I'd been trying to ignore.
A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips, and he leaned in again, his mouth so close to my ear that I could feel the vibration of his words against my skin. "Good. Because when the time comes, MJ, I'll take everything you have to give. And you'll give it to me willingly, completely."
My body trembled, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me. The air between us was thick with tension, charged with the promise of what was to come. I could feel my pulse racing, my skin prickling with anticipation. It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once, and I knew, deep down, that I was already lost. He's right, I thought, my breath shallow and uneven. I won't want to escape him. And that realization sent a wave of exhilaration crashing over me, leaving me breathless and undone.
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his own dark with a certainty that stole the air from my lungs. The promise wasn't a threat; it was a fact. And as a shiver, deep and fundamental, worked its way through my core, I knew with terrifying clarity that he was absolutely right.