The soft jazz of Tony’s penthouse lounge hummed in the background, blending with the clinking of crystal glasses. Ethan bypassed the bar and headed straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Gwen was still standing there, staring out at the city lights.
He didn't announce himself. Ethan stepped up right behind her, smoothly slipping his arms around her waist. He pulled her back flush against his chest.
Gwen let out a sharp, surprised gasp. Her hands instinctively flew up, gripping his forearms.
"Why are you always running from me, Spider-Girl?" Ethan murmured. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear.
A violent shiver ran down Gwen’s spine. The champagne she’d been nursing had lowered her usual defenses. She didn't push him away. Instead, she leaned her head back against his shoulder, letting out a soft, shaky exhale.
"I'm not running," she whispered, her pulse hammering against his wrists. "I'm pacing myself."
"You're terrible at lying," Ethan smirked.
Before he could turn her around, a loud, obnoxious throat-clearing echoed behind them.
Ethan closed his eyes and groaned. "I swear, if that’s the tin can again..."
"Guilty as charged," Tony Stark said, sauntering over with two fresh glasses of scotch. He held one out to Ethan. "Monaco Grand Prix. This weekend. I’ve got VIP passes, a private jet, and a sudden, burning desire to see cars go dangerously fast. You in?"
Ethan took the glass, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.
Monaco, Ethan thought inwardly. So the timeline holds, even if his motives have changed.
In the original script, Tony went to Monaco because he thought he was dying. He wanted one last thrill. But now? His chest was glowing with a brand-new, non-toxic element. He wasn't suicidal; he was revitalized. But Ivan Vanko—Whiplash—would still be waiting for him on that track.
"Why not?" Ethan shrugged, taking a sip. "I’m free anyway. Besides, I think you’re going to need me there."
"Please. I just need you there to make me look taller," Tony quipped.
"Speaking of making things," Ethan pivoted, leaning against the glass. "What’s the status on my Hoi-Poi capsules? You’ve got the new element working. Where are my pocket-sized armories?"
Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The arrogant billionaire facade cracked, revealing genuine scientific frustration.
"Man, that tech is too advanced," Tony admitted, swirling his scotch. "The math is gorgeous, but the fabrication defies logic. I tried titanium, gold-titanium alloy, even a trace amount of Vibranium I had in the vault. Nothing works. The moment the spatial compression initiates, the containment fields shred the metal. We need materials that can literally bend space without breaking."
Ethan nodded slowly. "Nothing can be done about that on Earth, I guess."
Well, there must be something in the System Shop, Ethan thought. I’ve got over sixty thousand points burning a hole in my pocket anyway. I'll buy the cosmic alloys myself. We'll build the damn things next week.
"Don't sweat it, Tony," Ethan said. "I'll source the materials. You just keep the assembly line warm."
As the night wore on, the champagne had done its job. The party had dwindled down to a close-knit few, and the atmosphere had shifted from celebratory to deeply intimate.
Across the marble floor, Tony and Pepper were standing by the bar. The tension between them was palpable, electric, and entirely exclusive. Tony, his chest glowing with the clean blue light of a second chance at life, was looking at his CEO not as an employee, but as the only anchor he had left in the world. They were standing inches apart, speaking in hushed tones, trapped in a bubble of their own gravity.
"Yeah, I'm not being a third wheel to that," Ethan muttered to himself, setting his half-empty glass on a passing tray.
He turned his attention back to Gwen. She was sitting on a plush velvet sofa a few yards away, giggling softly at a dry, British-accented joke J.A.R.V.I.S. had just delivered through the ceiling speakers. Her posture was completely relaxed. The usual hyper-vigilant tension of the Spider-Totem was gone, washed away by the safety of the tower and three glasses of vintage Stark-brand champagne. A beautiful, rosy flush dusted her cheeks and traveled down the line of her neck.
Ethan walked over, his footsteps silent. He extended a hand.
"Come on, Spider," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a smooth, quiet rumble. "We're leaving."
Gwen looked up, her blue eyes slightly unfocused but bright with a tipsy warmth. She didn't argue. She placed her hand in his. Her skin was incredibly soft, radiating a heat that Ethan felt straight through his fingertips. He pulled her gently to her feet.
Instead of raising his hand to spin a glowing portal, Ethan guided her toward the private elevator. They bypassed the lobby entirely, descending straight into Tony’s subterranean garage.
The air down here smelled of high-octane fuel, expensive rubber, and polished concrete. Ethan walked past a row of multi-million-dollar hypercars, stopping at a secure valet lockbox on the wall. A subtle spark of golden Eldritch energy leaped from his fingertip, short-circuiting the biometric scanner with a soft fizz.
He pulled out a heavy fob and tossed it in the air. A sleek, pitch-black Audi R8 chirped in the corner, its headlights flaring like awakening eyes.
"We're driving?" Gwen asked, leaning against the passenger door. Her words slurred just a fraction, making her sound incredibly endearing. "What happened to folding space?"
"Portals are too fast," Ethan smirked, opening the door for her. "Sometimes, the journey is better than the destination."
The streets of Manhattan were a cinematic blur of neon lights bleeding into the rain-slicked asphalt.
The cabin of the Audi was a cocoon of luxury and raw, mechanical power. The low, guttural purr of the V10 engine vibrated through the floorboards, a steady, rhythmic thrum that settled deep in Ethan’s chest. Outside, the rain drummed a heavy, chaotic beat against the roof and the windshield.
Gwen was quiet, but it wasn't the awkward, avoiding-eye-contact silence from earlier.
She had kicked off her heels. She turned sideways in the leather bucket seat, pulling her knees up and resting her head against the headrest. The golden glow of the passing streetlamps washed over her face in rhythmic intervals, highlighting the soft curve of her lips and the slight dilation of her pupils.
She was staring at him. Openly. Unapologetically.
Ethan kept one hand loosely on the steering wheel, shifting gears with a smooth, practiced flick of his wrist. He could feel the weight of her gaze. It was heavy, heated, and completely stripped of her usual guarded defenses.
"Why are you staring so intenty?" Ethan noted, his voice a low vibration that matched the hum of the engine.
"You're handsome," Gwen blurted out.
The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Gwen blinked, suddenly realizing what she had said. Her breath hitched, and she brought a hand up, her fingers grazing her own lips as if trying to push the words back in. But she didn't look away.
Ethan felt a sudden, sharp spike of heat pool low in his stomach.
He didn't laugh. He didn't tease her. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, and pulled the Audi off the main avenue.
He steered the car into a secluded, dimly lit alleyway in the Meatpacking District, the brick walls towering on either side like a canyon. He threw the car into park and killed the engine.
The sudden silence in the cabin was deafening, amplified only by the heavy, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass. The only light came from the soft, red glow of the dashboard instrument panel.
Ethan slowly unbuckled his seatbelt. The metallic click echoed loudly. He turned to face her, his golden eyes burning in the dim light.
"Say that again," Ethan ordered softly.
Gwen’s chest rose and fell in a heavy, shuddering breath. The alcohol and the intoxicating, dangerous aura radiating off him completely obliterated her inhibitions.
She reached forward. Her hands, surprisingly strong and incredibly warm, grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket. With a startling burst of athletic grace, she pulled herself completely out of the passenger seat and over the center console.
She straddled his lap.
The cramped space of the sports car forced them flush together. Ethan could feel the firm, toned muscles of her thighs pressing against his hips, and the soft, heavy swell of her breasts resting against his chest. Her heat was absolute.
"I said," Gwen whispered, her voice trembling as she looked down into his eyes, "you're handsome."
She didn't wait for permission. She crashed her lips down onto his.
It wasn't a gentle, probing kiss. It was an explosion of weeks of built-up, agonizing tension.
Ethan groaned, a low, primal sound that vibrated deep in his throat. His hands instantly dropped to her waist, his large palms gripping her hips and pulling her down impossibly tight against his growing arousal.
Her mouth was incredibly soft, wet, and tasted intoxicatingly of expensive champagne and sweet anticipation. She parted her lips, practically begging for him to take control. Ethan’s tongue swept inside, exploring the slick heat of her mouth. He tasted her, mapped the ridges of her teeth, tangling his tongue with hers in a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm that sent electric shocks straight down his spine.
Gwen let out a soft, desperate whimper against his mouth. Her hands tangled fiercely into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as if she were trying to physically fuse their bodies together.
Every slide of their tongues, every soft, wet sound of their kiss echoing in the quiet car, pushed the temperature higher. Ethan’s hands didn't stay still. They slid smoothly up the sides of her dress, tracing the hard, athletic lines of her ribs. He could feel her heart hammering violently against her ribcage, a frantic, syncopated rhythm that matched his own.
He broke the kiss just long enough for them to drag in a ragged breath of air.
Before Gwen could protest the loss of his lips, Ethan dragged his mouth down the sharp line of her jaw. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of her throat, feeling her pulse jump wildly against his lips. He gently scraped his teeth over her collarbone, pulling a breathless, shivering gasp from her lungs.
"Ethan..." Gwen breathed, her head falling back against the roof of the car. Her hips ground down against his lap in a slow, instinctive, maddening friction.
The rain continued to batter the windshield, enclosing them in a private, steamy world. Ethan’s fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress, gripping the small metal tab.
He pulled it down.