Nothing worked for you anymore. Not videos, not touches, not anything. You were bone dry, absolutely numb to everyone but your precious Miguel. You hadn’t even noticed at first- it was such a subtle thing, too.
So what if other men didn’t make you feel that familiar tingle? So what if an intimate scene in a movie just left you bored? So what if a shameless mannequin displaying men’s boxers just made you wonder if Miguel wanted any? It didn’t matter, you weren’t super sexual anyway.
But Miguel was different, way, way different. You could just look at him and start losing your mind. The way he talked with that accented, low voice aside to you, the way his body flowed and rippled when he stretched, everything. He made you hot just by being himself. Sure, he had his unattractive moments—those funny angles that made his forehead seem big or gave him a mock-double chin. And yet they just drove you crazier. You almost kicked your legs with a fan-girlish glee at how absolutely adorable he was. And all he had to do was look your way.
Nobody could make you feel the way he did. Everything else was an annoying white noise in the background compared to him. Other men? Pass. Others touch? Pass. Even enticing videos and intimate moments on screen had you yawning. But Miguel? Miguel was the love of your life, and you went crazy just at the barest touch.
Such a night came when you were watching a movie with him. It was come cheesy romance, one you had picked just for kicks. There sat the man himself on your couch, leaning back, face neutral and relaxed as he watched the overwrought drama play out. He had been half working on a schematic for a new lab within the Spider-Man HQ on his tablet, but it lay forgotten in his lap, his large hands resting the flat device on his thighs. You glanced over, curled up with a pillow ticked to your chest. It was a chill Friday night—sweats and a t-shirt for him, shorts and a sweater for you. It was messy and sloppy and absolutely normal—and yet you still couldn’t stop your glances. Eyes tracing his nose, eyes, the swoop of his messy hair, and of course his perfectly sculpted features. You didn’t dare look anywhere else—you knew he was aware of the slightest glances, and the slightest drift to anywhere else would have been noticed immediately.
“Preciosa?” Came a familiar, curious timber. You looked up to meet his brown eyes, realizing you had been staring at the spot where his jaw met his ear. He eyes were full of a special mirth, a mix of smugness, curiosity and fondness. You cleared you throat, well aware of how obvious you were being.
“What is it, my vida?” He inquired, turning his head to you and cocking his head, thick eyebrows raised. You smiled and looked away, embarrassed. “Ah, nothing, nothing… Sorry.” He raises his eyebrows even further, his full attention now on you. Feeling pinned, you shift, looking back at the movie. At the moment there was a tearjerking confession going on—you didn’t really have the patience to understand the details—and the male leaned in, cupping his darlings cheeks. You scoffed lightly. “Wow, what a loser…” you said with annoyance. You winced, hating your own harsh words. You had a bad habit of letting unkind things slip out when I you didn’t mean them.
“What, what’s wrong?” Miguel asked again, turning his head to look at you again. You gestured to the screen, huffing. “He’s doing it all wrong! It’s just… Ugh. I don’t wanna watch some awkward dude try to romance this girl. He’s just… Ick.” You express your distaste, knowing you were being slightly unreasonable but pressing on anyway. It wasn’t a bad movie or a bad actor, really—it just wasn’t him.
Miguel gave a throaty chuckle, again leaning back into the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “Not to your taste, Hermosa?” He teased, watching your disgust with amusement. You give a small huff and cross your arms, tucking your feet under yourself.
“It’s just… It’s making me uncomfy, okay?” You answer defensively, knowing full well that wasn’t the truth. He cocked an eyebrow, head tilting back to view you sideways from the back of the couch.
“Uncomfy? You never minded the intimacy before.” As if to prove his point his hand comes to rest on your thigh—instantly triggering every single hot flash and shiver you had. He raised he eyebrows even more—an almost impossible feat, at this point—at the obvious reaction you had. You flush and look away, tapping a finger on your crossed arms.
“Darling, what’s the matter?” He asked, now actually a little concerned. His large hand stayed on your thing not moving an inch—he wouldn’t dare make you uncomfortable. You sigh, rubbing your neck and stealing a glance at him. At the sight of his worried face, skin drawn up into acute wrinkle between his eyes and the barest hint of a pout, you almost lost it. What right has he to be so cute?!
You pick up a pillow and put your face in it, curling back on the couch. “Ah, dang it!” You cry, muffled by the plush of the pillow. He could only give an Incredulous laugh, eyes still wide with curiosity.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he scoffed lightly, half getting up to move you you. His voice was concerned, amused, fascinated—what was making his pretty hermosa so flighty? He reached over to grab at the pillow, the movie forgotten. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me, vida—”
You squeal, unable to help kicking you legs a little. “Please, Miguel, have mercy! I can’t take you!” He chuckles incredulously, still tugging insistently on the pillow. “My vida, what’s wrong? Tell me.”
You finally huff as he finally drags the pillow away, leaving you disheveled and slightly grumpy. You sigh up at him, taking in the beautiful sight: his hair falling forward to curl slightly, his deep brown tone warm and ruddy, and those damn puppy dog eyes just begging to know what was bugging you.
“You’re too hot, Miguel.” You say bluntly, relenting. He scoffs yet again—this time in actual shock. He looked down, face incredulous.
“What?” He asked, rich tone filled with bewilderment. You huff and groan, sitting up. He backed away slightly so you can sit up, face frozen in a small smile of shock.
“I spent my whole life thinking I had to make myself better to attract a woman and now you say it’s too much? Apologies, love. I had no idea.” He says, tone laced with an amused sarcasm. I huff again, cheeks slightly flushed.
“I can’t even function around you! You’re too much! I just melt like a little fan girl for you. I can’t even bring myself to think of another guy or someone’s else’s touch. It’s all you!” I sigh, putting my hands to my face.
He chuckled, laying down next to you and drawing you close to his chest. "I love you too." He murmured. You sighed, irritation dissipating quickly in the face of his warm affection.
"Damn you." you murmured, closing your eyes and settling into his chest. He chuckled again, cuddling closer to you, movie long forgotten.