The clicking and ticking of multiple screens and anomaly reports echoed through the lab, all attributed to a certain—heavily overworked—spider. She had warned him time after time that overworking himself was dangerous, but he seemed to never take her seriously, waving her off with a shrug and an absent minded acknowledgment. It was starting to grate her nerves. She stepped onto his platform near-silently, only accompanied by a quiet fwip of her webs. She snuck up on him, wrapping her arms around his waist and chuckling softly at his jump at the sudden touch. He calmed, leaning back into her grasp. “Miguel,” her voice is soft as she nuzzles the back of his neck. “time for a break, you’ve been working since nine—it’s almost two am” Miguel groans in response, swatting weakly at her arms and continuing to type his report. She huffs, nuzzling into the crook of his jaw, pressing nibbling kisses to his skin. “Miguel, please? You need a break” The man hums contently at the affection, though he continues to ignore his other half. “M’fine mi sangre, I’m not even tired” He grunts, a low hiss falling from his lips when she nipped at his carotid artery. “Stop that, I’m working” he orders weakly, a quiet whine emitting from the back of his throat when she kept at it, peppering the spot with nipping kisses and gentle suckling, his hips grinded back against hers subconsciously. “You don’t seem all that interested in stopping, baby” she teases, her hand falling from his waist to his groin, fingers cupping around his cunt. “Christ Mig, I didn’t even do anything, you’re already soaked” she chastises, fingers pressing against his folds through the suit, the action earning her a low moan. “Fucking Christ—mi sangre please” he whines, his pent up stress and frustration seemingly melting away at her touch, leaving room for only lust and need. Before he can even continue pleading, he’s forcibly turned around and pushed back onto his own desk. God he felt like a bitch. But the shame is worth it to have her hands on him, he supposed. She clicks a few buttons on his watch, getting the suit to phase off, leaving him in boxers. She presses wet, open mouth kisses along his chest, licking along the curved scares under his pectorals. Her fingers slipped under the elastic of his boxers, her pointer finger slipping between his slick folds and pressing against his clit. He moans, his hands scrambling to find purchase on her shoulders. She chuckles, pressing her lips against his in a messy kiss, bullying her tongue into his mouth as her finger pressed against the rim of his hole. He moaned pleadingly, grinding against her finger. She takes this as an invitation, her finger pressing into his hole, her thumb rubbing against his clit in circular motions. “Fuck—fuck [reader]—christ” he whines against her lips, moaning as she bullies in another finger. He can feel the slick gushing out his hole, acting like lubricant for her fingers as the digits pushed inside of him, pressing against his insides and torturing him closer and closer to the edge. He whines, pressing his face into her shoulder out of embarrassment and need, quiet pleas tumbling from his lips quicker than he can honestly think of them. He damn near sobs when her fingers leave his cunt, a strangled huff coming from his throat in complaint—before getting blindsided by the feeling of her mouth on him, her tongue licking hungry strokes along his folds, right up to his cock. He groaned, his hands finding purchase in her hair, pulling the strands taut, guiding her mouth to where he saw fit. She licks at him like a woman starved, her fingers keeping him in place for her assault as they gripped tightly at his hips. He can feel the coil of heat building in his stomach, tightening and tightening at every lap of her tongue. He keens, mumbling pleads for mercy—for permission to come undone. “Good boy,” she praises, the compliment going straight to his cunt. “You may cum” She only allows him momentary resolve, before diving back in, slurping and licking at his folds. He was close, his thighs twitching from their place on her shoulders, quiet whines and whimpers falling from his lips and fueling her hunger—till he finally snapped. His thighs shut around her head, keeping her mostly still as his body tremored with climax. His legs fell limp off her shoulders when he’d finished, his brain hazy. He barely registered his gizmo being fiddled with, or his suit phasing back, or being lifted off of the desk. He just felt tired and mushy. He woke up in his bed—technically theirs, cleaned up and in soft pajamas. She was asleep next to him. He smiled, nuzzling into her neck and letting sleep take him again. He’d definitely stop taking breaks if it got this kinda response.