You love wearing Miguel O'Hara's clothes.They envelope you like a warm embrace. They're far too big, a shirt turning into a dress on you, and you like it that way.
You like being reminded of how small you are compared to your lover.
He could throw you over his shoulder and carry you around as if you weighed nothing. He could easily overpower you, yet he doesn't.
There's just something so... intimate about it, especially on nights like this, when you're riding him with your fingers wrapped around his neck.
You're almost naked, clad onlyyour lover'st-shirt, while he's bare beneath you. His eyes are fixated on you, lips parted and eyes half-lidded.
Miguel looks so pretty, looking up at you like that, and it makes you want to ruin him even more.
He's got his hands on your hips, squeezing hard, and he's meeting you thrust for thrust. Your grip on his throat tightens just a bit, not enough to cut off his air supply, but enough to give him that heady breathlessness you know he loves. His eyes flutter closed, his hips stutter.
"Ah, ah," you chide, "look at me."
And he does.
His eyes are glassy, his skin is flushed, and he's the most beautiful person you've ever seen. You're the only one who gets to see him like this, completely vulnerable, completely and utterly yours to take apart.
"(Y/N)," he says, voice rough, "please..."
You're not sure what exactly Miguel is asking for, and you doubt he knows either, yet your name is pouring from his lips like the most reverent prayer.
It's the only thing keeping him sane.
You lean down to kiss him, swallowing the filthy sounds leaving his lips, and Miguel is clinging onto you. He's a mess— a gorgeous, needy mess— and you love every second of it.
"Mine," you whisper against his lips, "you're mine."
If Miguel could get anymore flustered he would've, but as it is, you've already reduced him to incoherence.
You smile and sit back, grinding your hips down harder, faster. Miguel's grip on you becomes punishing, and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, and the thought of that only excites you more.
When he moans, you feel it rumble against you palm. It sends a shiver down your spine combined with the feeling of him filling you upso perfectly, stretching you out.
You don't know how long you've been at it, but your legs are starting to burn, your heart is racing, and your breath is coming out in short gasps. Miguel senses it, reasonably so, he's brought you to the brink of pleasure enough times to know the signs.
"Quiero follarte, por favor."hebegs, voice rough and raw.
To have someone who could easily take what he wanted from you plead so earnestly for permission to fuck you makes you feel drunk.
You let go of his neck and lean down, pressing a kiss to his jaw, "Fuck me, love."
One moment, Miguel is laying underneath you, and the next, he's got you pressed into the bed, the weight of his body heavy on top of you.
Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he kisses you as he starts to move again.
Miguel is all consuming. The taste of him in your mouth, the smell of him filling your nose, the feeling of him deep inside you, the sight of him hovering above you, the sound of his breathy moans.
His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and he's panting and grunting against you, his breath hot and damp on your skin.
His thrusts are fast and shallow, and you know he's close. So are you.
A moan that sounds vaguely like your name falls from his lips as one of his hands dips between your bodies to give you more attention.
Miguel would never leave you wanting, more concerned about satisfying you before himself. It's endearing, but sometimes, you want him to be a little selfish, and this is one of those times.
"Miguel," you whisper, "I want you to fill me up."
"Fuck." It's a curse and a praise all at once.
Your hands find his neck again, and your nails dig into the soft flesh, leaving marks as you apply pressure. This time, you fully intend to cut off his air supply, knowing that it'll be enough to send him careening over the edge.
"C'mon, baby," you breathe, "come for me."
His thrusts lose their rhythm, and the next thing you know, his lips are pressed against yours, his tongue in your mouth, and his movements falter.
Miguel moans into your mouth as he comes, the sound muffled and desperate.
When you release your grip on his neck, he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he gasps and pants for air. Your hands stroke his hair, holding him close as he comes down from his high.
"You alright?" you ask after a few moments.
You don't understand what he's saying when he mumbles a response, but his lips are peppering tired kisses against your skin, expressing well enough that he is more than okay.
You hum, satisfied, "Good."
Miguel pushes himself up on shaky arms, looking down at you. His pupils are blown, his hair is a disheveled, and his chest is heaving.
It's a good look on him.
He leans down to kiss you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer. You kiss him lazily, unhurriedly, as Miguel pulls out of you, causing you to whine against his lips.
Miguel's lips find the spot behind your ear that always drives you crazy, and he murmurs, "Let me take care of you."
You nod and his hooded eyes meet yours as he shifts lower, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh, and then his mouth is on you.
Miguel eats you out like a man starved. He licks and sucks and kisses, and you're already so worked up from earlier that it doesn't take long for you to come undone.
Your fingers find his hair, and you pull him closer, needing more, needing him.
He moans against you, his tongue working miracles, and your mind blanks.
You come with a gasp, tugging on Miguel's hair, and he works you through it, not stopping until you're pushing him away because you're too sensitive.
You lay there, panting, and Miguel crawls back up the bed, wrapping his arms around you. He nuzzles your cheek and kisses your jaw, coaxing you back to reality.
His shirt is clinging to the thin layer of sweat coating your skin, and your hair is plastered to your forehead. It's uncomfortable and sticky, but Miguel is warm, and you're tired. You'll get up and clean yourself later, but for now, you'll bask in the afterglow.
Miguel's hand slides up your body, slipping under his shirt and caressing your bare skin as he presses a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.
"You look really good wearing my clothes," he murmurs when you two are no longer gasping for air.
You smile and look at him, "Yeah?"
He nods, "Yeah."
"That works out perfectly because I love taking them."
"I know," he looks at you with a combination of disbelief and fondness, "it's hard not noticethat half of my shirts are misses."
You shrug, "I can't help it. I'm only human."
Miguel chuckles and kisses you, his thumb running over your jaw. You kiss him back, and for a while, that's all you do.
Then, Miguel pulls away, and rests his head against your chest, his eyes closed.
"Hey, Miguel?"
"Hm?"
"I love you."
He doesn't respond and he doesn't need to. A small smile tugs at his lips, and his eyes open, and he's looking at you as if you're his entire world, and maybe you are.
But, Miguel isn't the only one who thinks that way.
"I love you," you repeat, softer, a confession and a promise.
This time, Miguel responds. His words are a quiet, tender whisper, and they hold all the weight of his devotion, "Ya lo sé."
It goes unsaid that Miguel would do just about anything for you. If you asked him to, he would tear down the stars, the sun, and the moon from the sky.
All you'd have to do is say the word.
Even with the way you drown in his clothes being evidence of just how much power he could have over you if he wanted it, the fact remains that, by his own choice, Miguel O'Hara is at the mercy of your very fingertips.
You've known ever since meeting Miguel that he didn't trust easily. Getting to the point that you are at now, being the only person he actually lets his guard down around, had taken a lot of time, patience, and understanding.
But, now, he trusts you implicitly. He would do anything for you, and there's nothing else in the world that matters to him more.
He knows you'll take care of him. He knows he can let go.
Even though you seem so small and fragile in his clothes, he's never felt safer. You're powerful, and he knows it.
And when his lips press against yours once more, you know without a doubt that Miguel understands the gravity of your words and the extent of your love.
You are his as much as he is yours.