The Webslinger's Weakness

Spider-Man flipped midair and kicked the machine gun out of the goon's hand, then webbed his head to the floor. Spotting Skull-Cracker's car starting to accelerate out of the warehouse he catapulted himself towards it from the upstairs balcony, a metal grate that hung over the cavernous room.

Gracefully he landed on the roof of the car, hopefully without being notic-

Too late.

Bullets started rapidly firing through the roof in random places but Peter - his spidey-senses buzzing like a klaxon - dodged them all and managed to lean over the car, open the rear door and yank out the security guard positioned there with a submachine gun clasped in his meaty hands.

Peter heard the faint scream as he hit the floor but the car was speeding so fast it didn't even sound real. He slipped into the car and punched the other guy, the one shooting through the roof, unconscious, some blood leaving his mouth and maybe a tooth. Now alone in the back of the black SUV Peter turned his attention to the two men in the front, shooting a web around the steering wheel, dodging bullets and powerful punches from Skull-Cracker himself, locking it in place and condemning the vehicle to a straight path until it inevitably collided with something. To make that a highly likely outcome, Peter webbed the driver's foot to the gas pedal and webbed his other leg to the door, away from the brakes. The confined space was difficult to work in, especially trying to fend off two bloodthirsty criminals at once. He was distracted by the driver furiously whipping out a knife when suddenly, out of nowhere, one of the mob boss' punches landed and hit him square in the jaw, sending him reeling into the back seat, a tangle of red and blue, his vision spinning; Jesus, they didn't call him Skull-Cracker for nothing. That fucking hurt.

Swiping blindly while his vision crawled back to normal, Peter aimed at the passenger seat where his target had been sitting, but he was gone: he had leaped out of the speeding vehicle hurtling to an unknown end, leaving a dazed spidey and a very angry, very stuck driver.

"Oh no you don't!" Peter followed suit, flinging himself out of a smashed window and landing less gracefully than he'd have liked on the ground. They were well out of the warehouse now and were standing in a flat, weed-ridden bit of scrap land. Ahead of him he saw Skull-Cracker limping up from what must have been a heavy fall out of the car. Before Peter could even aim his web shooter at the giant fifty yards away the man was suddenly writhing, like an electric current was surging through him. Then he spotted her, her short blonde bob poking out above her combat suit, her arm raised as if having just shot a projectile from her wrist, a taser bullet maybe?

Peter's face lit up below his mask, another one of his favourite Avenger's was standing before him, looking like an absolute badass.

He had to try to keep his voice from getting too high. "Hey, Black Widow! Hey! Over here!" He shouted, sprinting over to Skull-Cracker, where she was now standing, handcuffing him.

"Oh hey, Spidey." She said nonchalantly, chopping Skull in the neck when he tried to make a run for it, throwing a sack over his head when he started spitting.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, slightly puzzled. An explosion sounded in the distance. The car. Oops.

"Yeah, sorry about stealing your glory, kiddo, it was imperative this guy got caught and when I saw him bail out of the car I thought you'd lost him. Now I see you're as capable as any of us." She added at the end, making Peter grin. He pulled off his mask now that he wasn't surrounded by enemies, but when he did a concerned look fell over Black Widow's face.

She gently stroked the right side of his face, studying it deeply. "When did you get hit?" She asked bluntly, her years of spy training guiding her around small talk.

"Erm, he hit me in the face, hard, in the car...I kinda couldn't see for a few seconds." He admitted.

"We've got to get that checked out kid; you're coming with me. How did you get here?" Natasha asked stroking the bright purple bruise on his face.

"The bus." Peter smiled bashfully.

"The bus? Well this is a bit of an upgrade." She swiped on her wrist subtly and a sleek black car drove out from its hiding place, behind some storage containers, and opened its two doors.

"Oh my god. That is so freaking awesome. It's like James Bond." Peter squealed.

"Get in." Natasha said, hopping in the driver's seat and starting the engine after chucking Skull-Cracker in the boot.

When they were all buckled up Black Widow floored it and the car almost hyper-jumped out of the courtyard, riding smoothly and comfortably no matter the speed or surface.

Natasha laughed when she saw Peter's awestruck face staring at every little gadget or switch in the car and stroking the swanky interior. "You like it? Stark made it for me, he thought I could use a ride."

Peter could do nothing but nod.

After about fifteen minutes of driving they pulled into a Stark Industries 'Pocket Compound', one of a network of buildings dotted all over the world that were used as research and medical facilities, and also a place for an agent to sleep, if needs be.

"Good evening, Ms. Romanoff." The receptionist greeted them, "Good evening, Spider-Man."

Peter had put his mask on when told to by Natasha: she didn't want everyone to know who Peter was, not even in a supposedly safe place. Trust was earned.

"Hey, Nick, it's me." She said walking into a Doctor's room.

"Hey, Nat. What can I do for you today?" The handsome Dr. Hoezel asked.

"It's not me this time, it's my friend Peter here. He got pretty smashed up by a guy with a gnarly right hook."

Peter came forward and sat on the bed when instructed, placing his mask next to him: if Natasha trusted this guy then so did he.

After a few moments of just testing the tenderness of certain areas of Peter's face, the doctor spoke up. "Your jaw is dislocated. This might hurt at first but it will feel way better afterwards, ok?" With little warning he grabbed Peter's jaw and jolted it to the left, the hinge snapping back into place with an almighty click.

"Holy shit! That fuc-freaking hurt!" Peter cringed backwards, clutching his jaw.

"Told you."

Dr. Hoezel was right though, his jaw did feel much better after that, albeit with a dull ache.

"I'm going to do a full upper body check up on you Peter, just to see if anywhere else is injured."

"Er...ok, sure." Peter agreed.

Natasha then left as Peter stripped off his suit down to his trousers when instructed and leaned back on the cool and sterile material of the table.

"Now, Peter, if you could tell me if anything hurts..." Nick then proceeded to prod his ribs, eliciting an almost ticklish sensation until he got to the lower left ribs.

"Ow ow ow ow ow! Yep they hurt, they hurt real bad." The teen winced again, almost doubling over in pain.

"Ok, if they hurt that bad with your pain tolerance they're badly broken." The doctor talked to himself. "Lift up this arm please."

Peter did as he was told.

After a few more painful prods and a quick scan Doctor Hoezel decided that they were indeed broken. Very broken.

"Ok, Peter, so here's what's happening. You must have been hit really hard by something, or someone, but maybe you just didn't feel it because of the adrenaline. Your lower ribs are quite badly broken in many places, and you have some internal bleeding and juding by your reaction, maybe even significant internal tissue distress. If you were anybody else this would be serious, but because of your increased healing abilities I'm only going to sentence you to more bed rest and no saving the world for two weeks. You need to let it heal up properly. That also means no sexual activity, trampolining, gymnastics, bungee jumping...web-slinging...or just any rigorous physical activity. I want them to be fully healed before you start fighting again: breaking them again could cause even worse internal tissue damage, which we don't want do we?"

"Two weeks?!" Peter exclaimed. "Come on, doc! What am I going to do in that time?"

"Maybe watch some old films you missed? Watch every Kardashians episode and get the low-down? I'm sorry, Mr Parker, but it's for your own good. I will have to notify Mr Stark to enforce your bed rest." Dr Hoezel explained in a very doctorly way. Peter pursed his lips and pondered asking an embarassing question, one of utmost importance, then decided he could ask without judgement.

"Does that mean no mshtshsbtshn?" Peter mumbled the last word to the point that the doctor had no idea what he'd just said.

"Pardon?"

"Does that mean no mshtshbtshn?" Peter asked again, desperate to not say it any louder, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink.

"What?"

"Does that mean no...masturbation?" Peter whispered urgently.

"Masturbation?" The doctor put on a knowing smile, unable to hide his friendly amusement. "Ah, I'm afraid it does. Any rhythmic movement of your arms would just serve to cause even more damage. The damage is down your right side, and you're right handed...it's best to rule it out entirely, just to be safe." The doctor crumbled at Peter's concerned look, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "I know it's gonna be hard for a lad your age, but it's for your own good. It's only two weeks. For someone without your healing factor it could be much longer; count yourself lucky."

Peter was disappointed, but he nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Doc." He started gingerly pulling on his suit. "Erm...can you maybe not tell Mr Stark about the no masturbation bit. I promise I won't, he doesn't need to--"

"Peter," the doctor shook his head, sighing. "Of course I won't. All he needs to know is to stop dumping superhero things in your lap for a fortnight."

Peter let out a breath of relief. "Okay. Good. Great. Thanks."

Suited once again, Black Widow and Peter sped off to his home, his aunt's apartment in Queens.

"Thanks for the lift, Natasha, and for taking me to Dr Hoezel."

"Anytime, kid. The bruising should go down quickly with that cream he gave you and just try to avoid being shirtless in front of your aunt, ok? Wouldn't want her to be worried about the bruising." She replied leaning over the passenger seat.

"Can do." Peter smiled grimly.

He silently snuck into the apartment, not sure whether his aunt was back from work or not, and stuffed his suit under his bed after pressing the button that loosened it completely - a very useful feature for someone with broken ribs.

He laid back on his bed after putting on his pyjamas and started to drift off to sleep, exhausted after a day of fighting.

Around an hour later Peter's window slid open and Deadpool slipped in, not realising that Peter was fast asleep in his bed, lying above the covers. Upon seeing him, he quieted his movements, wandered over to the bed and pulled the blanket from the bottom of the bed over his boyfriend who, he noticed, had goosebumps on his arms.

He leant down and kissed Peter on the forehead gently, rousing him slightly, his eyes opening barely and a tired smile appearing on his face at the sight of Wade. "Hi, Wade."

"Shhhhhhh, go back to sleep, it's ok. I'm gonna go now, I just wanted to see you." Wade whispered.

Peter tried to answer but was dragged back into slumber by his lack of energy. Wade smiled and pulled up a chair next to the bed, taking Peter's hand from under the blanket and stroking it soothingly.

By the time he woke up Deadpool was gone. The window was closed and he was wrapped up in his blanket, but reluctantly unravelled when he saw it was 9:00am on Sunday. He plodded his way across his room and into the kitchen where his aunt was perched on a bar stool, openly reading Men's Health as if for the masterful journalism.

"Hey, Peter, I didn't hear you get back from Ned's last night but you were dead asleep when I checked on you, all snuggled in your blanket, so I just left you. You two get up to something tiring?"

"Oh...yeah...just you know, brushing up on our knowledge of protein synthesis and kidney func-" he started, knowing May would switch off at the first sign of sciencey things.

"Ok, yep, sounds boring as hell I would be passed out too." She said, then carried on 'reading' Men's Health. "Get some breakfast, I just bought Cookie Crisp if you want it."

The cereal was delicious but it was tainted slightly by the flaming agony his ribs were in, exaccerbated after he hit them accidentally while opening the fridge. He had to bite his fist to stop from screaming out loud. He then saw how he couldn't exactly do any crime fighting for a fortnight and decided to stop being mildly annoyed at handsome doctor Hoezel.

Deadpool called him at around noon, when he was just about to have a very careful shower, to check up on how he was. Peter was convinced Wade had some sort of telepathic powers that alerted him whenever Peter had a lack of clothes.

"So this doctor says I can't do any fighting or strenuous activity for two weeks."

"So...no erotic roughhousing?" Wade sounded extremely disappointed.

"Nope."

"No kinky spider holes?"

"'Fraid not."

"And no tickling? Damnit! I want words with this Skull-Cracker."

"Number one, thank God for two weeks of tickleless bliss, and number two, you would have to have words through six inches of bullet-proof glass because he is in prison." Peter chuckled, but was secretly blushing. Wade really did care about him.

Deadpool went silent for a few moments. His voice was suddenly husky and deep and he spoke slowly, deliberately, passion in every word. "Well, I'm going to wait to see you until these two weeks of hell are over and then give you some of the best sex you have ever experienced, so be ready, hero." Wade hung up. Peter gulped slowly and deeply.

Peter still considered himself a virgin so any sex he had would technically be the best, but he pushed his finicky thinking away and let Wade's words soak into him. When this two weeks of celibate hell was over Deadpool was going to fuck him into the next dimension. A shiver shot down his spine in anticipation.

Snapping back into reality he realised he was sporting a massive tent in his jogging bottoms, and cursed his ribs that he couldn't take care of it.

Instead he lay on his bed listening to Frank Ocean and waited for the ridiculously tempting thing to deflate on its own, which seriously tested Peter's resolve.

This was going to be a long two weeks.