The first rays of dawn filtered through the gauzy curtains of May Parker's bedroom, casting a soft, golden haze over the rumpled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them. Jason lay on his back, one arm slung lazily over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in the deep, satisfied rhythm of post-coital languor. The night had been a marathon of indulgence—a relentless cycle of positions, peaks, and breathless recoveries that had left Aunt May utterly spent. He'd taken her in every way imaginable: bent over the edge of the bed with her ass high and quivering as he pounded into her from behind, her moans muffled into the pillows; straddling him reverse cowgirl style, her full breasts bouncing wildly as she rode his thick cock with a fervor that belied her gentle exterior, her pussy clenching around him like a silken fist until she squirted for the third time, soaking the sheets; on her knees between his legs, her hazel eyes locked on his as she sucked him deep into her throat, gagging softly but eagerly, her tongue swirling around the head until he painted her tonsils with his release. And when exhaustion threatened to claim her, he'd flipped her onto her side, spooning her from behind, sliding back into her slick, cum-filled heat with slow, grinding thrusts that coaxed out one final, shuddering orgasm from her overstimulated body. "Jason... oh, sweet boy, you're going to ruin me," she'd gasped in the wee hours, her voice hoarse from crying out his name, before collapsing into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Now, as the clock on the nightstand ticked past 6 AM, May curled against his side, her naked form a warm, soft weight—her head pillowed on his shoulder, one leg draped possessively over his thigh, her auburn hair splayed like a halo across his chest. Her breathing was even, peaceful, the faint scent of their mingled sweat and sex still clinging to her skin like a forbidden perfume. Jason's hand idly traced the curve of her hip, savoring the plush give of her flesh, already contemplating round... what, seven? Eight? Time blurred in the haze of conquest.
A sharp knock echoed through the house—three firm raps on the front door downstairs, followed by a pause and two more, insistent. Jason's eyes snapped open, his superhuman senses sharpening instantly, and he could make out several people in the hall. A big frown appeared on his face. He sat up slowly, careful not to jostle May, who murmured something incoherent and burrowed deeper into the pillow, her full breasts shifting with the movement, nipples still faintly reddened from his earlier attentions. The knock came again, louder this time, vibrating through the floorboards.
"Damn it!" Jason muttered under his breath, glancing at the clock. Who the hell would be pounding on the door at this hour? He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing his discarded shorts from the floor—the only article of clothing he'd bothered with after their last frantic coupling. They hung low on his hips, the waistband riding just below the V of his hips, doing little to hide the defined ridges of his abs or the faint scratches May's nails had left on his torso. He padded barefoot to the bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to peer down the hallway toward the stairs. The house was silent otherwise, save for the distant hum of a neighbor's lawnmower starting up.
The knocking persisted, now accompanied by a muffled voice—young, male, edged with urgency. "Aunt May? It's me, Peter. Open up—I need to talk."
Peter. Spiderman. Jason's lips curled into a wry smirk. Of course.
He glanced back at May, still blissfully asleep, her sheet tangled around her waist, exposing the swell of her ass and the love bites dotting her inner thighs. No way was he waking her for this. She needed the rest after the way he'd railed her senseless, her body limp and quivering in his arms by the end. "Stay put, beautiful," he whispered to the empty air, slipping out and easing the door shut behind him with a soft click.
He descended the stairs quietly, his bare feet silent on the worn carpet, pulling the door open just as Peter raised his fist for another knock. The kid—lanky, tousle-haired, with that perpetual look of wide-eyed earnestness—froze mid-motion, his spider-sense probably tingling but not quite sure what to make of the half-naked stranger in his aunt's doorway.
blinking rapidly, his backpack slung over one shoulder like he'd just come from an all-nighter patrolling or cramming for exams. He was dressed in his usual baggy hoodie and jeans, but Jason could spot the faint outline of the web-shooters under the cuffs. "Why are you here? Where is aunt may?"
"She's fine," Jason cut in, his voice low and steady, leaning against the doorframe with casual nonchalance. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, the morning chill raising faint goosebumps on his skin. "Sleeping. Rough night. What do you want to talk about?"
Peter's eyes narrowed, flicking over Jason's disheveled state—the rumpled shorts, the faint sheen of sweat still on his skin, the unmistakable aura of someone who'd just tumbled out of bed after something far from innocent. A flush crept up the kid's neck, suspicion dawning. "Look, man, I don't know you. This is my aunt's house. And you need to get the fu—"
"Easy, web-head," Jason said, holding up a hand, though his tone carried a hint of amusement. He stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door mostly shut behind him to block any view into the house. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and distant traffic from Queens. "Not here to cause trouble. Name's Jason. May and I... we had a date last night. Things went well. Really well. She's an adult. So am I. What's the issue?"
Peter's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth to retort—probably something about boundaries or protecting his aunt—but then his gaze shifted past Jason, to the street. His expression morphed from annoyed protectiveness to outright alarm. "Wait... what the—?"
Jason followed his line of sight, and a low chuckle escaped his throat despite the surprise. Parked haphazardly at the curb was a sleek black SUV, its tinted windows rolled down just enough to reveal the occupants.
And holy shit, what a lineup. Stepping out now, fuming like a kettle about to blow, was Happy Hogan—Tony Stark's burly, no-nonsense security chief, his face red as a tomato, suit rumpled like he'd been roused from bed himself. Beside him, adjusting her blazer with that poised efficiency, was Pepper Potts, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, eyes sharp and assessing. And there, unfolding from the seat with his trademark swagger, was Tony Stark himself—Iron Man, billionaire playboy philanthropist, looking equal parts intrigued and irritated in a casual button-down and slacks, arc reactor faintly glowing under his shirt. Flanking them, arms crossed and looking way too serious for her age, was a teenage girl with sharp features and dark curls—MJ, Michelle Jones, Peter Parker's not-quite-girlfriend but definitely his intellectual sparring partner, her expression a mix of curiosity and disdain.
Jason felt a thrill ripple through him, hot and electric, cutting through the morning haze. This was like stumbling into a Marvel convention, but real—raw, unscripted, and loaded with potential. A gaggle of heroes, sidekicks, and civilians all staring him down like he'd just crashed their family reunion. He raised a hand in a lazy wave, flashing a grin that was all easy confidence. "Morning, folks. Nice ride. Stark Industries, right? Come to crash the afterparty?"
The group advanced as one, Peter falling in step beside them, his spider-sense probably screaming now. Happy was first, jabbing a thick finger toward Jason's chest without actually touching him—close enough to feel the heat of his anger. "Who the hell are you, kid? And what are you doing coming out of May Parker's house looking like you just ran a marathon in your underwear? You got five seconds to explain before I call the cops."
Tony held up a hand, staying Happy with a casual flick, though his eyes—those calculating, genius-level eyes—were locked on Jason like a targeting system. "Easy, Happy. Let's not go full caveman yet." He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, head tilting as he scanned Jason up and down. "Jason, huh? Peter here mentioned a mystery guy on the phone—something about his aunt's new 'friend.' But you don't ring any bells in my databases. No facial rec hit, no social media footprint in the last 24 hours. So, spill: Who are you, and where the hell did you come from? Because showing up out of nowhere and cozying up to Peter's guardian? That's not just bold; that's suspicious as fuck."
Pepper placed a calming hand on Tony's arm, but her own gaze was steely, protective instincts flaring. "Tony's right. May's been through enough. If you're some kind of stalker or—God forbid—one of those lowlifes targeting single women in the city, you need to leave. Now."
MJ hung back a step, her arms still crossed, but her dark eyes were narrowed in analytical scrutiny. "Yeah, and if you're not a creep, you're at least a liar. Peter said you called him 'web-head' like you know something. How? You some kind of fanboy who hacked the Bugle archives or what?"
Peter called Tony because he thought Jason was super strong and suspicious. He guessed he might be dangerous and hard to deal with as he saw him.
But he didn't know that he would bring Happy and Pepper.
And MJ was here on her accord, clearly interested in this new boy.
Peter shot MJ a quick glance—grateful for the backup, but clearly mortified—before turning back to Jason, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Dude, seriously. Aunt May's asleep? What did you do to her? If you hurt her—"
Jason held up both hands now, palms out in a universal gesture of peace, though the thrill buzzing in his veins made it hard to keep a straight face. This interrogation felt like a spotlight in a bad cop show, but damn if it wasn't exhilarating—being the enigma in a room full of puzzle-solvers. He leaned back against the porch railing, keeping his tone light, disarming. "Whoa, whoa, everybody chill. I'm not here to hurt anyone. Name's Jason El Kent—yeah, funny coincidence. I'm not from around here... let's just say I took a wrong turn on a road trip and ended up in Queens.
And May, she's safe, she's happy, and no, I didn't 'do' anything to her she didn't beg for." He winked at Peter, unable to resist the jab, watching the kid's face turn beet red.
The group exchanged glances—Tony's brow furrowed in that telltale 'running scans in my head' way, Pepper's lips pressed into a thin line of skepticism, Happy muttering something about "punks these days," MJ jotting a mental note or three, and Peter looking like he wanted to web Jason to the nearest lamppost.
"Beg for?" Peter echoed, voice cracking with outrage. "That's my aunt! You can't just—"
Tony cut in again, stepping closer, his voice dropping to that patented Stark blend of charm and menace. "Kent, huh? Cute story, but it doesn't add up. No records, no trail. You pop up, charm the pants off May Parker—literally, from the look of you—and now you're waving hello like we're old pals. If you're a good guy, prove it. What's your deal? Mutant? Inhuman? Or just some interdimensional hitchhiker who thinks banging Spider-Man's aunt is a solid cover?"
Jason's grin faded slightly, the thrill sharpening into something edgier. They weren't buying it—not yet. The interrogation hung heavy, eyes boring into him like lasers. But he wasn't about to spill the multiversal beans. Not when the morning held so much more promise, with May still waiting upstairs, warm and willing. "Look, I'm harmless. Scout's honor. I'm a good guy—helped out a few folks on the way here, nothing flashy. Just... let me wake May up properly, and she'll vouch for me. Or don't. Your call. But slamming the door on a guy who just made her night? That's cold, even for you, Stark."
The standoff stretched, the air thick with unspoken threats and unyielding doubt. Tony's eyes narrowed, clearly weighing options—call in JARVIS for a deeper dive, or let this play out? Peter shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the house, torn between fury and filial duty. And Jason? He stood his ground, pulse quickening not from fear, but from the delicious tension of it all—these icons of this world, circling him like sharks, oblivious to the pervert king in their midst.