The defeat of the spot has been long forgotten, and anger is quickly replaced by sheer panic when Miguel takes a hit for him.
All Miles remembers is losing sight of 42 as shadows envelope him. Shatters and remains of what might’ve been his home, falling apart into glitches in an unfamiliar pool of nothing.
His watch is cracked in the process, and he has no way to call for help. He doesn’t even know if evacuating the city saved his family from the fate they had been sealed with. All he can see, breath, and hear is the spot and his tantalizing existence.
More buildings slam against him, seemingly appearing out of thin air. In the darkness he finds himself in, their blinding colors lit up a path, and Miles cries out at the realization that he has no way of leaving.
Then, Miguel strikes in with an orange swirl of energy – crude, vicious and vulgar.
A pained noise snaps Miles out of his initial shock, the consequences of Miguel’s actions once again at his bare hands.
He watches as Miguel slowly awakes under the sunlight that bathes him. He crawls in between his legs, desperately attempts to shake him into consciousness.
A second later, a groan rips through Miguel’s throat and he forces himself upright, his face twisting when pain shoots through his back. Miles moves to push him back onto the ground, afraid that he might lose him to unconsciousness again.
He feels a headache forming behind his eyelids, and his lungs burn at the mere action of breathing. Miguel’s not dead. The universe is safe, everyone is alive, and canon stays intact no thanks to him.
Miguel Isn’t dead in his arms.
“You’re not dead. Holy shit.” He says as such, his own voice so whiny and weak that he doesn’t even recognize it. His hands grope at Miguel’s heaving chest, then at his shoulders, until they settle on his biceps.
“Don’t know if I’m too happy about that.” Miguel murmurs, and it almost seems like an instinct. He blinks rapidly for a moment or two, trying to adjust to his surroundings.
He pauses upon seeing Miles in front of him, his eyes fluttering when he attempts to squint at him. Miles exhales in relief, moving back and letting go of his arms. He doesn’t have the right words to say what he wants, his brain too scrambled by the recent fight.
Miguel inhales and immediately shatters into static, his pigment melting into colors that look wrong and unnatural on him.
“I’m glitching.” He says as he recovers, and Miles wants to laugh at the horror that takes over his features. “Miles, what did you do? why am I glitching?”
And then he winces at the impersonal use of his name.
“I didn’t do nothing! Spot busted the watches so we
couldn’t leave.” He brings up a hand to show him his wrist, Hobie’s improvised watch fried beyond saving. It makes a weird noise when he touches it, so he decides it might be best to take it off.
Miguel nods slowly, and glances around them, taking in the aftermath of everything. The ground is cracked through the streets, and the entire place seems abandoned by the lack of people. Dark matter coats a significant portion of the floor.
“Where are we?” He asks quietly, moving to stand on his feet when Miles finally lets go of him. “And where is everyone else, exactly?”
“We’re on my earth.” Miles shrugs, taking a few steps back. “The others are helping to evacuate the city, so they might be a few blocks away. Miguel – “
“Don’t – “
“No, you don’t.” Miles points at him with an accusatory finger. “Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. You could’ve died.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Miguel rolls his eyes when he sees Miles glaring at him from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t overthink it.”
Miles throws his hands in the air in frustration, holding in the urge to scream in Miguel’s face. “Listen, man. You don’t get to do this. Don’t act like you just did me a favor. You can fuck off for all I care, but don’t treat me like a little kid who doesn’t understand things. Be real with me.”
Even with his furious tone, he’s still terrified that Miguel will simply brush it off and walk away, leaving him to drown in his shame. He watches in anticipation as Miguel takes a deep breath, and rolls his neck to look up at the sky. He almost takes too long, and Miles begins to consider turning around before Miguel gets the chance to do it first.
“You did good.” Is all he says, earning a surprise chuckle from Miles, because of course the man won’t even apologize properly. Miguel holds out a hand for him to shake, and Miles decides on taking what he can.
Their fingers barely touch before Miguel jumps back and withdraws his arm with a hiss. “Mierda, Ow!”
Miles blinks at him, distraught at his odd reaction. Then, it dawns on him just as quickly. “Shoot, did I zap you? I’m so sorry, dude. That was not intentional, I swear.”
“Ay, it’s okay. Just – Get that under control.” Miguel forces a smile, and Miles feels his cheeks warm at the sight.
It’s okay, but neither of them reaches out again, just in case.
Miles doesn’t think about it too much, mainly because he has more urgent things to take care of. But it doesn’t slip his mind entirely either. He is well aware of the fact that he’d felt so jittery around Miguel he didn’t even notice the electricity buzzing underneath his skin, despite it being an unmistakable feeling.
In retrospect, Miles should’ve spent more of his time thinking about it.
He’s been doing this for over a year, and since those first few months as Spider-Man, he hasn’t let either of his abilities slip. He had to be extra cautious about his bioelectricity, after three torturous months that he couldn’t risk touching anyone around him. He made sure to maintain it under control, even when he couldn’t pay constant attention to it.
It became a crucial part of his skin.
Which is exactly why, zapping Miguel by accident doesn’t make any sense. Sure, he had just fought a powerful villain, and his body had been beaten by way too many people during those three days.
But that doesn’t explain why his powers had acted up, specifically around Miguel. For the following weeks, he didn't know what to make of it.
Until it happened again.
Miles decides that skipping halfway through his school day is a good idea. As far as his ‘good ideas’ have gone, it’s usually the execution plan that goes sideways.
It’s a warm June afternoon, and his parents aren’t at home. His house is empty and quiet, a scenery he isn’t very used to at the dorms. Outside, the city is lively as always, if not more than usual, cars roaming through summer tinted streets.
He’s about to leave his bedroom when his spider-sense goes off at an alarming intensity, warning him of an upcoming threat. His body moves on instinct alone, and he turns around at the sound of the window creaking from behind him.
He almost slams the door upon realizing who it is, but then he curses under his breath instead. He looks up at the ceiling as if asking God for mercy, before he actually acknowledges Miguel.
"Miles," the man in question says, exhaling in relief when Miles doesn’t react too drastically. "I don’t want to intrude."
“Well, you definitely are.” Miles mutters, moving to sit down on his bed. There are a few feet remaining in between them, but with Miguel’s size, it almost doesn’t do much to comfort him.
Despite Miguel’s gentle demeanor, there’s still obvious apprehension in Miles' eyes as he squints at him, suspicious. His gaze slips down to where he’s holding a small box in his hand, and then he blinks back at his face.
"What d’you want?" He continues after a long pause of silence. "Is there another anomaly or something? Cause I already told you, man, I don’t really vibe with you guys. For obvious reasons."
“I get that.” Miguel’s mask dematerializes, showing his guilt ridden face. “I don’t require your help. I’m here to deliver something.”
"Okay…?" Miles doesn’t even try to his his impatience, but Miguel chooses to ignore it.
“Miles, look – “ as soon as he starts, he cuts himself off. He takes a deep breath, and it seems that it’s just as torturous for him to be there, as it is for Miles.
He hesitantly opens the box in his hands, revealing a dimensional watch. Unlike the others, which were all silver, this one’s a black color with red and golden details, bold to the eye but simple enough to match Miles’ suit. The personal customization is somewhat touching, and it does wonders to ease Miles’ discomfort.
Although it’s still strange to him that Miguel would put time into such thing, the gesture doesn’t slip his mind. He can finally allow his shoulders to slump, and his senses stop pressing on the back of his head.
“Oh,” is all he says.
“I would’ve given it to you before, but because of your dimensional signature…” Miguel shrugs, moving to place it on Miles’ desk. “All you have to know is that it’s yours to have. It’s programmed to identify you properly, so you won’t have any trouble with hyperspace methods of traveling.”
“You can just say ‘portaling’, y’know.”
Miles watches him silently until he is sure that Miguel is done talking. He slowly reaches out to grab the gizmo, and proceeds to inspect it from different angles. It’s surprisingly lightweight when he slides it on his wrist, and just like he’d thought, it fits him perfectly.
He’s mildly surprised by the lack of tact in Miguel’s choice of delivery person. They had separated on good terms after their fight with the spot – because after all, Miguel had come to help him when he needed it most. Hell, he almost sacrificed himself for his well being. Which was astronomically stupid.
But he isn’t really on speaking terms with anyone from the society. He doesn’t see why Miguel would ever think he needs his own watch.
He doesn’t know what to say.
Miguel looks down to the floor, ripping his gaze away from Miles’ heated face. “I also… wanted to apologize. Which, I admit, I probably should’ve done much earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Wounded pride, mostly.” Before Miles gets to whisper ‘what changed?’, Miguel lowers his chin and continues. “Anyway, I’m genuinely sorry for the way I targeted you. You were right, about everything. The flaws in my theory and practice weren’t difficult to miss.”
Miles follows with a nod, and Miguel adds just as quick, “Besides, you’re only fifteen. I should’ve treated you as such.”
Disappointment sinks deep in Miles’ chest. He will never understand what it is with people treating him as if they’re so much more mature than he is. As if his suffering and determination aren’t valid because of his age, even though he’s gone through similar things.
Having to prove himself one time after another is exhausting. And kind of insulting, if he’s being honest.
“C’mon, dude! You were doing so good.” He groans, holding his head in his hands. “How many times I gotta tell you? Don’t treat me like a kid! I’m so sick of you guys just – ignoring everything I do because ‘I’m only fifteen’. I’m just as capable as all of you. I thought you knew that, at least.”
The shock is evident on Miguel's features, his brows raised high and his mouth slightly gaping. Miles ignores the amusement bubbling in his stomach and simply rolls his eyes at him.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re forgiven, or whatever.” His accusatory tone slowly deflates, and his eyes stay steady on where the watch wraps around his wrist. “How’d you know I was here, by the way?”
At his ambiguous question, Miguel finally speaks. “What do you mean?”
What does he mean? Miles has heard once or twice about Miguel’s obsessive surveillance, but he wants to refrain from telling him about them to his face. He doesn’t need Miguel chasing him through his New York as well.
But that doesn’t stop him from pressing him about it, mainly just to fuck with him a little. “I’ve got like, school, man. How’d you know I’d be home?”
“I was dealing with an anomaly when I… passed by your house.” Miguel grimaces when he realizes how bad his lie is. Miles just chuckles at his reaction.
“Uh huh.“ he bites back a smile. “Just passing by, you say.”
“Yes.” Miguel’s tone turns bitter with the understanding that Miles is mocking him. Laughter erupts from him and Miguel hisses. “Cállate, pinche malcriado.”
Then, all of a sudden, Miles’ feels awfully light on his bed. It doesn’t ring any alarms until he takes a long look at Miguel’s expression, and he sees how he’s looking at him.
Concern is written all over his face, and his eyes are glued on something below Miles’ neck.
He slowly lowers his head, and almost falls out the bed when he sees that he’s turned invisible, without meaning to. Without noticing. Then, his body pops back into existence, the color of his suit coating his arms and chest.
He desperately tries to control it, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.
“I don’t – I have no idea why that’s happening.” He chokes out, clenching his fists in an attempt to force his body back to normal, but instead it only causes him to flicker back and forth. “What the hell?”
He’s aware of the way Miguel is watching him – as if he were the same child that had every right intention, yet all the wrong tools. He tries to stop himself from showing the obvious horror on his face, but fails miserably when his invisibility keeps on acting up.
“What gives? I though you had it figured out a while ago?” Miguel hums, his eyes snapping back up to meet Miles’.
He wishes he could settle on disappearing from Miguel’s judgmental gaze, because he knows very well that the pigment on his face is evident. He is completely clueless as to why Miguel has such an effect on him. It’s humiliating.
“I thought so. Apparently not.” He sighs in defeat, hands dragging down his face. “It’s weird. I think the stress with the spot and all that messed up my defense mechanism.”
“Has it happened since then?”
“Well, no… not really.” He shrugs, focusing on anything other than Miguel. And his still flickering body. “Doesn’t matter. Just. Ignore this, please.”
Miguel eyes him for a moment, and something cracks through the nonchalant stance he holds himself with. Before Miles gets to catch what it is or means, Miguel’s walls build back up.
It’s probably not any of his business, anyway.
“You want a drink? Or something to eat before you leave?” Miles attempts to change the topic – and distract Miguel from the current situation.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Now I know that’s a lie. C’mon, dude, you’re Spider-Man! How come I’ve never seen you eat?” His voice almost sounds as excited as it did when they first met, bouncing on his feet with an empanada in hand.
“I wasn’t turned because of a bite.” Miguel explains, moving to face the window. “I was turned artificially, so you could say that I am quite literally, and genetically, half a spider. My human metabolism wasn’t affected the same way yours was. Mine simply became… non-human, I guess.”
Miles gaped at the information he received, and suddenly many aspects of Miguel O’Hara clicked in his mind. That actually made so much sense.
“Damn.” He wonders out loud.
“Damn, indeed.” Miguel shrugs, squeezing his massive body out the window. “Have a good day, Miles.”
When Miles begins to disappear again, neither of them comment on it, which he’s immensely grateful for.
If he’s being completely honest with himself, his attraction to Miguel had not been a surprise. Miles couldn’t deny the flush that took over his cheekbones at the mere anticipation of meeting the man. That sentiment has always lingered.
Even when he witnessed Miguel’s cruelty up close and personal, the size of his body – pressed intimately against his own – wouldn’t leave his mind.
What did horrify him a little bit, was the fact that under all the hostility, Miguel is quite bearable to be around. Bordering on the line of somewhat pleasant. Along with his great sarcastic humor and intellect. It’s charming, in its’ own way.
Once he apologized properly, they were both quick to fall into an easy banter. Miles does his best to poke and test Miguel’s never ending patience, and in return Miguel begins acknowledging him a little more.
In result, Miles often finds himself deep in thought, his sketchbook over his lap and a pencil in his hand.
He doesn’t even notice when the image of river colored eyes slowly change into a deep, bloody red. Blonde hair and pink tips morph into dark curls, a warm accent, a deeper voice. Miguel has efficiently taken over Miles’ mind and the only way he can flush it out of his system is through the brushes of his pen.
That’s usually what goes down. Miles hides endlessly in the comfort of his room, and curses himself for always choosing people that can’t accept the amount of love he has to give.
However, today Miles is a changed man. Today, he steps out of his room and heads towards the training center. He doesn’t even know what possessed him to ogle Miguel out in the open this way, but whatever it is, it has him wide eyed with desire, hiding behind his sketchbook and curled up on the benches.
He watches in fascination as Miguel climbs up a tall wall, using the strength of his arms alone, muscles flexing as he lifts his entire body mass over it.
Miles’ face is a deep red at the breathy noises that are pulled out of Miguel, his wide chest heaving at the effort of completing his training. Miles observes as he straightens up, his back turned as the hologram mask falls apart and reveals his face and neck.
Then, Miles blinks upon realizing that he’s so much closer than before, and why is he walking towards him –
“You finished?” He jumps when Miguel speaks to him directly, and he throws his pencil in the air, before closing his sketchbook shut.
“What?” Miles’ eyes open even wider, switching in between Miguel’s face and his torso. “What do you mean?”
He’s well aware of the other spider-people watching them as they try to appear busy in their workouts. Understandably, their eyes are glued to their boss and the fifteen year old he tried to kill not so long ago.
But It’s unnerving, and Miles wishes Miguel would’ve just ignored him.
Miguel brings up a towel to dry the sweat that travels down the sides of neck. “Your staring was obvious, you know.”
Miles keeps blinking up at him, like a deer caught in headlights. “I was just practicing anatomy, and you’re really easy to draw. ‘Cause you’ve got really… defined muscles.”
Miguel stays quiet, observing him for a moment, then he webs the back of his notebook and pulls it into his hand. Miles yelps at the action, his senses going off a tad too late. To his horror, Miguel slips past the open page, and begins looking through his older sketches.
Miles curls further into himself when Miguel’s brows lift up at the abundance of Gwen’s image and name in the beginning of the sketchbook. Fortunately, most of the following pages are filled with accurate drawings of his uncle and his apartment, or some other places in Brooklyn.
However, he is still about to witness how deep Miles’ infatuations go – how deep the infatuation with him goes, and Miles doesn’t really want to stop him from finding out. That thought leaves him hanging in a weird place.
“Those are old, so…” he attempts to justify, but Miguel simply continues to browse without paying much attention to him.
The entire other half of the booklet is filled with portraits of Miguel, little text bubbles with personal thoughts, graffiti-style lettering with all the nicknames he has given him in his head. His mouth covered in blood, his arms enveloping mayday, his eyes closed in a deep sleep over his desk.
Miguel stops when he sees their fight on the train, painted from Miles’ point of view. Miles remembers every detail from that page – Miguel’s unstoppable anger against an immovable spirit.
Miguel sighs, closing the notebook and holding it out for Miles to take. The red tint in his irises seems to have shifted towards more of a maroon color, and under the lights of the training center, they appear much warmer than they might actually be.
“Hey, man.” Miles calls out when he sees the pout on his lips. “Don’t worry about it, yeah? It’s in the past.”
He doesn’t realize that the warmth underneath his skin isn’t the same one he’s grown familiar with, and before he gets to connect the dots, he reaches for Miguel’s hand. His fingers brush over the fabric of his suit, and suddenly he turns transparent around it.
“Ugh,” He exclaims, snatching back his arm. He looks down at himself, and without a doubt – he’s flickering in and out of invisibility again.
Miguel watches him carefully, his face strangely blank. Then, his eyebrows pinch in some kind of frustration, and all the walls that he’d kept up until now, crumble down at once.
“Sorry about – “ when Miles looks back up, Miguel is already moving towards the exit. He has to stumble onto his feet to catch up to him, barging through the doors after him. “Miguel! Hold up!”
“I need to go.” Miguel mutters, turning to the next hallway. “Go back to your doodling.”
“Yo, can you stop for a second?” Miles shoots a web to the back of Miguel’s neck and pulls on it, forcing him to turn around in the process. “What’s up with you?”
“Adults get busy, Miles. I have important matters to get to.” Miguel snaps in response, and takes a step back. Miles shoots another web and brings him even closer, but Miguel quickly rips it off. “Stop that. I’ll web you to the wall if you try that again.”
“You wouldn’t.” Miles stays unfazed. “Can’t you just tell me what I did? Was it the sketchbook? You weren’t supposed to see that. I know it was weird.”
Miguel keeps staring at him through furrowed brows, and he clicks his tongue. “That doesn’t matter to me. I already told you, I have things to get to.”
“You’re lying.”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
“But you are! Right now!”
“Miles.”
They stay that way for a moment, Miles stubbornly silent while Miguel simply glares at him. Miles starts flickering back into existence, and as soon as Miguel realizes where he stands, he sends glowing red to strike at him. Miles avoids it efficiently, thanks to his senses.
“Just tell me already! I’m talking to you, man!” He groans when Miguel turns his back on him and keeps on walking. He follows behind him like a lost puppy, eyes round with confusion.
“I’m aware.”
He recognizes a condescending tone when he hears one. He falters at his words, and everything he was feeling a second ago vanishes to make space for a heavier feeling. He stumbles on his step before coming to a stop, frowning at the realization that maybe, after all –
Miguel seems to feel Miles’ disappointment, or perhaps he simply heard him stop on his tracks. Either way, he finally faces him properly. “Why do you care so much?”
Miles chokes on his voice, not expecting that question. He thought Miguel would’ve left by now, or at least lecture him on the importance of privacy. “What?”
“I can’t find any reason as to why you would care about anything I have to say.” Miguel gives an audible exhale, and gestures at something in the air.
Miles gapes at him, and Ice-cold water washes down his spine with a shiver. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice dies in his throat when he can’t come up with anything useful to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Miguel pouts like a child, and it has Miles exhaling all the air left in his lungs.
“What do you mean?” He blurts out, ignoring his invisibility when it malfunctions for a split second. It doesn’t matter to him now, because Miguel is actually attempting to tell him something significant, and for some reason, his brain can’t unlatch from that.
Miguel’s head whips to look at him, and Miles finally gets a good read of his facial expression. There’s irritation, pretty much like always, but there’s also something else underneath the surface.
It’s the same sentiment that peaked through when Miguel had given him the watch two months ago, and similar to the one he wears whenever Miles begins fighting his invisibility. Guilt.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Miles cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer.
“I’m not looking at you like anything, Miles.” Miguel states firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You are!” Miles mirrors his stance. He slowly moves closer until he has to tilt his head back to be able to look Miguel in the eye. “It’s like it bothers you to look at me or something.”
“You – “ Miguel swallows nervously, his throat Bobbing with it. “Of course, it bothers me to look at you. How can it not? You’re clearly uncomfortable around me, so much so that you unconsciously activate your defenses. But you keep talking to me. Why?”
Oh.
“Miguel, I – “ Miles has to physically restrain himself from laughing . “I mean, yes. Obviously, you were pret-ty aggressive when we first met. But you had a reason. Plus, you were hella stressed, so… I can’t really hold a grudge against you.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re so insistent on talking to me.” Miguel murmurs, the pinch in between his eyebrows finally dissolving. “Are you trying to… como se dice? Expose yourself to your fears?”
“Yeah, no.” Miles shakes his head, chuckling in amusement. “I’m not afraid of you, viejo. Don’t give yourself so much credit, okay? You’re scary sometimes, but kinda like a disappointed parent. I guess.”
Miguel goes quiet at that. He seems to be thinking about Miles’ words, but he’s mostly waiting for him to continue.
“And for the record, my powers keep acting up because I’m nervous, dude.” Miles confesses with warm cheeks and averting eyes. He rolls his weight on his heels, jittery under the dark eyes observing him. “I just wanna impress you.”
Miguel takes another pause, before he finally relaxes and says, “You’ve impressed me plenty already.”
He’s smug for whatever reason. It’s as if once he’s pleased with the outcome, all the vulnerability he’d shown returns to hide in the shadows. Although, Miles can’t help but slightly smile at his relief. It’s a refreshing sight to see.
"I don't look like that, by the way. In your notebook." He knows Miguel wants to appear serious, but his tone is filtered by the small smile he has on his lips.
This time, Miles anticipates the warmth that spreads through his limbs, and Miguel allows himself to laugh when Miles’ body dissolves from his side yet again.
Nueva York is quieter than usual. It’s the middle of the night, and the only thing illuminating the streets are the neon lights of futuristic vehicles. Miles looks around as enters HQ, taking in the comforting silence that holds the place.
He pulls his mask off and shoves it into the pocket that covers his thigh. He pulls on the collar of his sweater in a fit of nervousness, and his stomach swoops the closer he gets to Miguel’s office.
Despite how comfortable they are with each other ever since they’ve overcome their initial conflict, Miles’ feelings keep getting in the way.
He approaches the entrance door, and clicks at the screen that is on the wall beside it. He bites the inside of his cheek as it scans his fingerprints, his legs unable to stay put at his anticipation. He’s glad that Miguel has given him easy access to the office, and the gesture still makes his breath stutter.
He walks in, and when he shoots a web to climb over the platform, he doesn’t expect to see Miguel in sleepwear and a pair of glasses. His hair is ruffled, smaller strands sticking to his forehead like he’d just woken up from a well deserved nap. Miles fights the urge to throw himself out the window when a single worded thought crosses his mind – cute.
“Miles.” Miguel declares the moment he picks up on the sound of his steps, and Miles tries not to giggle at his appearance.
“Que tal, tío?” He responds with a cheeky grin, hopping over to sit on the desk to his left.
He observes Miguel as he sits cross-legged on his chair, deeply immersed in the text that appears on screens in front of him. He’s hunched over the table, a hand propping his head and the other covering his leg. He seems relaxed, despite the late hour and the amount of work he still has to complete.
Miles is about to open his mouth when Miguel beats him to it. “Un segundo, Miles. I’m making sure the data I put in…”
He trails off, most likely just thinking out loud. Miles chuckles lightly when he realizes this, growing fond at the little quirks he notices in Miguel’s demeanor. He kicks his feet in the air, fidgety with excitement at the comfortable quiet that fills the room, and he feels at ease.
A few minutes pass by until Miguel is finished, clicking one last time on some of the buttons in his keyboard. He directs Lyla to turn off for the night, and gathers the documents that are sprayed across the surface of his desk, unorganized.
“Sorry about that. I received this report right before you came in, and it required my urgent attention.” He slowly turns to look at Miles. “Back to why you’re here. Any idea why?”
Miles licks his lips, nervous under the attention. Miguel drops his gaze to follow the movement, then down to his feet, before he quickly returns to his face. Something is tugging at the sides of his mouth, and suddenly Miles feels like he’s missing something important.
“Uh… I dunno.” He shrugs.
Miguel gives him a second run-over and Miles begins nervously pulling at the fabric of his suit. “The anomaly, Miles. Care to explain that?”
“And here I thought you just started to miss me.” He attempts to lighten the mood, but ends up wincing painfully when an awful silence follows his remark. He essentially gives up on maintaining a positive attitude, running both his hands down his face.
He knows very well what Miguel is referring to. He probably should’ve been honest from the start, because nothing can really escape Miguel’s attentive eye. However, even if the anomaly he dealt with might’ve been way out of his league, it didn’t mean he had to call for back up. He managed just fine.
Obviously, Miguel doesn’t agree.
Miles then crosses his arms defensively, and hikes a leg over the table. “The anomaly was contained. What else you want me to explain?”
“What I want you to explain to me,” Miguel is speaking so quickly Miles has trouble keeping up. He tries to cut him off before he works himself up, but it is unsuccessful, as Miguel shuts him up with a glare. “Let me finish. You knew it could be life threatening, yet you decided to accept that as, what? A challenge? Would you imagine my surprise when Lyla alerted me that a high risk anomaly was contained, only to find out it was you who dealt with that? And on top of that, I find out no backup was called whatsoever?”
His tone is a slap to the face. It keeps Miles silent, bioelectricity crackling through his bloodstream in agitation. He doesn’t pay it any mind, simply contemplating Miguel’s words in his shame.
They stare at each other for a few more seconds. Miguel takes off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose, and his eyes glint red under the low light. Miles can feel the embarrassment heavy on his chest, and he rips his gaze away from Miguel, before he could meet his eyes again.
“I could handle it.” He murmurs stubbornly, his brows furrowed with obvious distaste. “I had it handled. You saw the footage! I’m fine.”
“Three broken ribs, a twisted ankle, another three broken bones in your left hand.” Miguel snaps back, gesturing at him as he points out the obvious. “Should I keep going?”
Miles needs a second to process the words in his head, because suddenly he’s reminded of the aching limbs he’s been dragging around all day. Then, Miguel’s heated voice roars over the blood in his ears, and it makes sense. Why his skin keeps flaring under everything he touches.
“Well, shit.” He wonders out loud, clasping his hands together and hiding them in between his thighs. He doesn’t miss the way Miguel glances at the movement and swallows shortly after. “Obviously, I didn’t know that. How did you know that?”
“Your watch is designed to keep up with the state of your body.” Miguel says softly, dragging a thumb over the band that covers his own wrist. “It’s precaution.”
He keeps looking at him with the same intensity in his eyes, and Miles knows he’s waiting for him to crack first. What he still doesn’t understand is why. Why is he waiting for him to admit his own mistake, when he could berate him like he always does?
“What are we doing here?”
“I’m waiting for you to take responsibility for your actions and stop acting like a child.” Despite the degrading phrasing, Miguel’s tone is fairly even and he doesn’t seem too upset by what he’s telling him. “You said you wanted to be treated like an equal. This is me treating you like one. I just want to know why you wouldn't call for backup in a situation like that?”
Miguel’s face is something Miles hasn’t seen before. It twists with such gentle concern it’s a hard kick to the gut. It almost reminds him of his mother, how she treats his wounds without knowing what had caused them in the first place. It’s such a refreshing sight to see, and Miles takes a trembling breath, eyes darting between Miguel’s and the floor under his swinging feet.
“Miles.” Miguel scoots closer, pressing his warm palms over both of Miles’ knees. “I want you to feel like you can confide in our society. I know we’ve – I failed you horribly in the past, and no amount of apologies Can change that, but it did make me remember why I founded this in the first place.”
“Why did you…?” Miles echoes, his voice small. All of a sudden, he feels small all over, enough to be cradled in Miguel’s arms. He’s immediately startled by the mental image, because then he realizes how badly he’s aching for Miguel’s closeness.
“I didn’t want to be alone.” Miguel confesses, his eyes falling down to the floor. “I wanted for people like us to have someone, or something that they can always rely on.”
A crooked smile fixes on Miles’ lips. Miguel mirrors the gesture, and he lets out a soft sigh. He moves back from Miles, turns to his desk and pulls out a first aid kit from a drawer underneath.
“Will you let me help now?” Miguel comes to his side, stretching his arms and back before he opens the metal box.
Miles desperately tries to keep his heart at bay. There’s a buzz running through his body like a wildfire, and he can almost hear the clicking noise of blue energy pounding beneath his bruised skin.
When a hand comes up to touch him, Miles shrieks and backs away. “Wait! I might zap you. Defense mechanism and all that.”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” Miguel reassures him. He reaches out, only to flinch backwards with a pained hiss. “Ay, carajo!”
It takes a couple minutes, but he eventually gets used to it. With gentle hands, Miguel undresses him from the upper part of his suit. He disinfects the cuts on his chest and back, before he covers them. He pushes Miles’ ribs back into place with a crack, and Miles screams against the fabric of his sweater, agonized. Then, Miguel wraps bandages all around his torso, and secures it on his back.
“All done.” He taps Miles’ thigh, eyes half lidded and irises blown wide. Miles is stunned by his reaction – by this whole interaction, if he’s being honest – because he did not expect Miguel to be so… responsive.
He can’t stop feeling the electricity running through his hands, traveling just below his skin, until it reaches the tips of fingers. He curls his hands into fists, and cracking noise can be heard as blue color wraps around his arms. He huffs out a deep exhale. “Thank you.”
The quiet in the lab settles again. Miles’ body is no longer pulsing with stabbing pain, and his nerves have been numbed by the medication. But voltages are still within reach, and he still has to maintain a distance in order to avoid shocking Miguel into oblivion.
Miguel squints at him playfully. Then, his mouth falls into a thin line. “Don’t do it again.”
Miles answers him with a jerky nod. It’s not a command. He can recognize the plea in the small twitches of Miguel’s blank expression, and as soon as he sees the furrow in his eyebrows, he knows there is nothing he can possibly say that would reassure Miguel. Not entirely.
Miles clears his throat, and indulges himself anyway. “I knew you would’ve been there if anything went wrong. I’m – you’re probably the only one I can actually trust.”
His heart is heavy when he closes his mouth shut, fearing the tremble in his lip and the pressure in his throat. He doesn’t say anything when crismón eyes gloss over, underneath the yellow lights of Miguel’s computer.
Miles spends his morning roaming around the streets, looking for a place to stop and buy himself some food.
He finds a nice roof a couple blocks away from uncle Aaron’s apartment, high and lonely under the spring breeze. He settles right on the edge and takes out the burger he bought, along with some fries and a coke.
He’s silently scrolling through his phone until a flash of color appears behind him, and his spider-senses go off.
He immediately recognizes the swirling orange as one of the portals from Miguel’s watch. The portals that Miguel opens are somewhat different from other’s, mostly by color. But Miles quickly learns that it changes in texture and sound as well. Now that he really thinks about it, he might have to ask Miguel about that.
“Miguel, hey.” Miles calls as Miguel finally steps into his dimension, his face hidden behind the holographic mask. Miles raises an eyebrow at that.
“Don’t give me that look.” Miguel murmurs as he approaches him, hands steady on his hips. “You should wear your own, you know. You have a secret identity to maintain.”
Miles shrugs, and continues working around a bite of his lunch. He clicks his phone shut and shoves it into his backpack, ready to give Miguel his full attention, and perhaps help him with whatever he’s come to complain about. Miles knows he can’t deny him very orden. When Miguel stays unmoving where he stands, Miles looks up at him with a confused smile, cocking his head.
“You’re just gonna stand there and watch me?” He asks, but Miguel still doesn’t respond, so he pats at the empty space beside him, inviting him to join him by his side.
Miguel stares at him for a bit longer. Miles doesn’t really mind, he’s more than already used to his awkwardness – he’s grown fond of it, actually. He feels himself swell in victory when Miguel eventually comes down to sit beside him on the edge of the roof, accommodating with a huff. Miles glances at him, sheepish.
“What’s up? Why are you here?” He asks as he takes another bite from his burger. Then he picks up some fries and offers them to Miguel, but Miguel just shakes his head with furrowed brows.
“No hables con la boca llena.” He scolds him, before turning to watch the view of the busy streets below. “Can’t I just come visit you?”
“No. You don’t really do visits, Miguel.” Miles points out, his gaze still steady on him. He watches the sunshine cover Miguel’s features, bathing him in a warm color that he usually lacks in the darkness of his office. Miles breaths in, his chest tightening with the familiar urge to cradle Miguel’s face.
He internally cringes at that thought, because Miguel is barely his mentor. But his mind chants the fact that Miguel is visiting him, that Miguel wants to spend time with him, and he melts with an eruption of butterflies in his stomach. It has him fighting the instinct to pop out of existence and turn invisible.
“Well, now I do.” Miguel scoffs, turning his head to inspect Miles’ face. “Do you not want me here?”
Miles feels his eyes widen, and he hopes Miguel can’t see the way his lips are trembling. He stiffly shakes his head, then finally musters the courage to speak, clearing his throat. “No, no. It’s fine. I mean, it’s more than just fine. It’s nice, that you wanna – that you’re here.”
“Okay, Miles.”
“Dude, you really don’t want some?” Miles keeps talking with his mouth full, because he’s more than well aware that if he allows himself to fall into another comfortable silence with Miguel, his heart might burst open. “I’ve seriously, like – never seen you eat.“
He offers him his burger now, shoving it towards his face, attempting to provoke him. Miguel glances at him once, does a double take, before he sighs in defeat and leans in. Miles is about to blurt a confused noise when Miguel opens his mouth wide and his fangs sink into the bun of the burger.
Miles makes a weird noise from the back of his throat, watching in amazement as Miguel’s eyes open in order to meet his own. Their faces are close enough that Miles catches the minty smell in Miguel’s cologne, and Miles’ other hand lightly bumps against Miguel’s leg. They continue holding eye contact as Miguel parts from Miles’ food, swallowing around the bite with an appreciative hum.
“Satisfied?” He chuckles, and Miles knows damn well that he’s teasing him, but he’s just so flustered that he can’t keep it to himself anymore.
With a random burst of confidence, he moves closer to Miguel, he tilts his head and he whispers, “Am I reading this wrong?”
Miguel seems surprised by the question, then confused, and it all settles with a mix of panic and relief. Miles slightly suspects that Miguel knew exactly what he meant from the moment the words left his mouth, but it was only expected of him to play dumb all the same. It doesn’t suit Miguel much, yet Miles quickly realizes that somehow Miguel makes everything work on himself.
Including Miles, and his unflattering audacity.
“Are you into me?” He attempts to elaborate before Miguel gets the chance to answer. Or rather, reject him, because this is crazy inappropriate. “Cause I know I am. Like, really, really into you. And I know you’re kinda my boss, which is still hella weird but – I mean, is it just me?”
Miguel closes his mouth, baffled by Miles’ rant. He looks everywhere but at him, and Miles can see how his irises grow to cover his blood colored eyes. He’s mesmerized by that, even if it’s not the goddamn time.
“Miles, you – “ Miguel starts, his voice rough, and he takes a pause. Miles is jumpy with nervous energy by the time he speaks up again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Goddamn it, Miles curses Internally. Only Miguel could complicate a simple matter of yes or no.
The words ring loud in the sudden crushing quiet, stinging inside Miles like a punch to the gut. The newfound confidence is gone from his body all at once, leaving a dull disorienting ache behind. His mind is racing to catch up with the implication in Miguel’s broken whisper, and suddenly it feels like it indeed, was not supposed to happen.
This is not where he expected this to go, just moments ago. This is new and confusing and frightening.
Miguel’s eyes slip away entirely from the moment they’re sharing, clouded by something darker. The pointed stare he held has turned into a deep frown, allowing all the exhaustion to seep back into his features. All the comfort that has eased Miguel’s expression is gone in an instant, and it has Miles shaking with the instinct to turn invisible. Again.
“You’re overthinking this.” Miguel’s voice cuts into the sheer horror that has taken over Miles’ head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I know you’re just… confused. This isn’t on you, it’s on me, for ever indulging you.”
Miles gapes at him, not expecting that in the slightest. Everything proceeds backwards with Miguel, and it always leaves him unknowing. Miguel’s eyes are open wide when he meets his gaze.
Miles recovers. “Woah, hold on. Indulging me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Miguel’s throat bobs at his difficulty swallowing. “I should’ve just apologized and left you be. This is – no. This is not on you. This is entirely on me, okay?”
“Why are you – what’s going on?” Miles inspects him, his head reeling with the uncertainty in Miguel’s tone. He finally catches his agitated breathing, the twitching in upper lip, the desperate avoidance of Miles’ eyes.
Miguel is honest to god, panicking.
How is Miles supposed to respond? His mind goes blank and he doesn’t know anything beside the fact that Miguel is panicking, and naturally he does too.
His control slips through his fingers, and suddenly he’s flickering in and out of existence like he usually does when Miguel teases him a little too much. He glances down at his hands, whimpers at the loss of color in his arms, and looks back at Miguel. He finds him horrified.
"Miles, I understand. You thought – " Miguel flinches, as if remembering that he has to get to his feet and distance himself from Miles as much as possible. “I tried making it up to you. But I understand, you’re confused. Of course you felt like you should say something like that. I don't expect you to have meant it – "
Miles sucks in a breath, still failing to follow Miguel’s anxious words. He opens his mouth to object, but –
“You don’t actually want me around.” Miguel insists, fingers tapping on his dimensional watch. “Trust me, kid. I’ll just suffocate you, because – well, it doesn’t matter. What you’re feeling is strictly, superficial attraction. You could be mistaking fear for this infatuation, for all I know! What was I thinking – “
“Miguel, what the fuck are you talking about?” Miles snaps, running a hand down his face with a groan. “Don’t decide what I feel for me, you jerk. When I tell you that I’m into you, I mean it.”
Miles turns around and grunts into his palms, his breathing agitated. He’s nauseous from the whiplash of going back and forth between aching for Miguel and the paralyzing rage that he provokes in him. All while Miguel just stands there.
“First you jump to the conclusion that I’m just confused, because of course I can’t know what I’m actually feeling. I’m still just a reckless kid to you!"
“Miles, I didn’t mean it that way. But you are fifteen – “ Miguel tries, but Miles keeps talking over him.
“And then, you’re tryna imply that you, what? Groomed me or something? Which is more fucked up, and even more infuriating.” Miles shakes his head in disbelief, turning to him with an accusatory finger. “But fuck what I say, right? You’re gonna keep finding ways to claim that you don’t believe me anyway, so just – “
“I want to believe you!” Miguel interrupts again, more forcefully. “I do. I would believe you if you weren’t a teenager, Miles. But this situation is a problem. It is wrong. I don’t expect you to – “
“Well, I did!” Miles cries out, shoving his backpack over his shoulder. “I did expect, and I expected you to trust me! You said you did! You promised to treat me like an equal, but you’re not even ready to be straight with me. Honestly, Miguel, you could’ve just told me that I read this all wrong and I would understand. It would hurt less than this bullshit you pulled.”
He takes a slow breath, in and out. He hates that he’s getting so worked up over this, most likely proving Miguel right.
This is not how it was supposed to go, because it was supposed to be comfortable and easy, the same way these past few months were. Miles was supposed to turn invisible out of fluster and not out of shame. They could’ve stayed on the edge of the roof, enjoying a meal together and the sweet view Miles found for them.
Miles would’ve liked to confess that what he feels is more than just physical attraction. He would’ve liked to let Miguel know in between whispers, instead of yelling and cursing and rough treatment.
It wasn’t supposed to trigger a dramatic argument exposing some deep-rooted conflict they seem to have, not to mention the fear of rejection Miles has been fighting off the entire time.
His body slows the pulses of his invisibility as he calms down, until it settles on a rate that doesn’t give him a headache. His cheeks are still warm when he realizes that Miguel probably thinks the way he does because of Miles’ lack of self control. Who could ever take him seriously at his state?
He walks up to Miguel, right into his space and grabs one of his hands. He moves it so that it rests against his cheeks, and he looks up at him, somewhat hoping that Miguel can read his mind.
“I meant it, asshole.” He says, his voice rough from all the screaming. “I still mean it. I want you, like – for real.”
Miguel looks down at him, as if he doesn’t understand why Miles is telling him this. “You shouldn’t.”
“I think I should, actually.” Miles chuckles, stubborn as always. “I understand why you’re so stuck with this idea that you’re inevitably hurting everyone around you, thinking that you’re so self aware, but lemme tell you something, okay? You’re not poison, and you’re not doomed. Not more than anyone else, anyway. Man, as smart as you are, you’ve got the emotional capacity of a three year old.”
Miguel doesn’t say anything, his eyes red and dark as always. For a moment Miles thinks he might’ve stepped too far, even though he believes everything he said. He impatiently waits for the moment that Miguel’s hand will drop off his face, and he will walk away, eventually done with the conversation.
But then he melts into Miles’ body, and scoops him up into a tight hug. Miles’ hand comes up hesitantly to wrap around his torso, and he feels Miguel’s face against the top of his head.
It encourages him to keep on talking, even when his invisibility is off the charts again. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same. And I’m sorry I dumped it on you outta nowhere.”
“No, I’m sorry for talking to you like that.” Miguel slides a hand down Miles’ spine, attempting to sooth him. Miles buries himself deeper into his chest. “You shouldn’t be the one carrying my burdens.”
“Don’t care. I want to.” Miles murmurs against his suit. “Let me make my own choices for once.”
“Okay.” Miguel sighs. “Are you okay? Your invisibility is quite… altered.”
“I’m fine, you didn’t scare me, I swear. I’m just a little worked up.” Miles rolls his eyes, a small smile pulling on his lips as he speaks. “You believe me now? When I tell you I want you? Or that I’m into you?”
Miguel gently pushes him back, and his hand grasps at Miles’ neck. Miles worried his lower lip in between his lips, and this time this feels a little more like how it was supposed to go from the start.
“Of course, I do.” Miguel clears his throat and waits for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It was never a matter of believing you, Miles. I’m just… not sure if you’re aware of what you’re wanting. You’ve probably figured this out already, but I’m not the most stable person. I thought I was treating the issue from the root, in order to be better for you, but – I guess it wouldn’t matter anymore. I just wanted to try to be good, like you are. I still can’t understand how someone as exceptional as you doesn’t avoid the mere sight of me. Much less… have those kinds of feelings for me.”
“You don’t have to understand it.” Miles says, looking down at his feet. “I don’t understand it sometimes, but we just clicked, after we worked out everything else. I don’t wanna think about why I deserve to feel happy with you. I just wanna feel it.”
He feels rather than sees Miguel nod above him, and he squeezes his arms tighter. He waits until he’s back in Miguel’s embrace to ask, “Do I make you happy, at least?”
He doesn’t mean to say it, at first. But the more he ponders about it, the more he thinks that he should know how to make Miguel happy by now. He hopes that the answer is yes, and his little heart gives an anxious squeeze in his chest.
“I haven’t been actually content for a long time.” Miguel whispers, and it isn’t really what Miles expected. “But… I don’t think I even knew what happiness was before knowing you.”
Miles is definitely not getting over this any time soon. Or any time at all. Almost on cue, he flickers in and out of existence with the pattern of his beating heart. “Just… be straight with me, please?”
“Okay.”
+1
When Miles flutters his eyes open, he’s still jittery with energy. He slowly remembers that he’s laying in Miguel's bed – the one that’s in his actual apartment, not the faux living space he has at the HQ. It’s minimalistic and simple, but at the same time it’s so Miguel.
Miles is enveloped with warmth, and his head is fuzzy at the smell of Miguel’s cologne and musk. He doesn’t even know what time it is in Nueva York, all he knows is that sometime during the night his mind has turned into a sticky substance consisting of MiguelMiguelMiguel.
He finds it absurd that he’s so tired, yet so goddamn horny at the same time. It feels ridiculous to wake up Miguel in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of filling himself up with his cock. Miles tries to justify it in the last couple days that they’ve spent separated.
“Miles.” Well, that makes his job a little easier. Miguel sighs deeply and buries his nose further into Miles’ neck. “Go back to sleep. You need to rest.”
“Miguel,” He slowly turns his body around, and when he attempts to speak, his tongue becomes jelly against his teeth. He feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, no. Don’t fall asleep! C’mon, open your eyes for a minute.”
“I’m awake, cálmate.” Miguel rolls his neck as he speaks, stretching out sore muscles. “What is it, nene? Cannot believe I’m saying this, but I need the rest too.”
Miles tries to roll his eyes at him, but fails and ends up giggling instead. His heart is picking up a pace in his chest and his stomach twists around a fluttery feeling. He’s nervous in the same way he felt when he first kissed Miguel, anticipation swarming in his gut.
By the time he realizes that he hasn’t answered yet, Miguel reaches out to hold him by the waist. He pulls him so that he’s pressed against his chest, and he brushes his thumb over Miles’ sides. Miles can’t help himself, and he twists with a laugh at the ticklish feeling.
He then drops a thigh over Miguel’s hips, and he props himself on the other. Miguel slides his hands under his oversized shirt, and sighs when he feels the heat of Miles’ skin. Miles’ grins down at him, his head lolling to the side.
Miguel squints at him. “Ay por dios, Miles.”
Miles cocks his head when he doesn’t elaborate. Suddenly, he’s all too aware that he has to tilt his head down to look at Miguel properly, since he’s propping himself up on the bed. He bites his lower lip in an attempt to contain his awe, but can’t seem to stop his hands from trailing up and cupping Miguel’s cheeks.
Huh, they seem a little fuller now. The thought immediately follows up with a deep desire to bite the flesh until it reddens under his lips.
"You’re hungry?" Miles looks at him a certain way, and Miguel quickly corrects himself with a, “hm.”
“Yeah, hm. I missed you, very much.” Miles points out, not bothering to disguise the amusement in his voice. He shifts to hide his face in the crook of Miguel’s neck and closes his eyes.
“I’ve been missing you too.” Miguel offers, squeezing tighter around him. “What have you been up to? Except from excessively hanging out with Hobart, apparently.”
The large hand leaves the small of his back, moves to rest at his thighs, and Miles feels something clench in his stomach at the gesture. He’s suddenly reminded of the very reason he decided to visit in the first place. He’s overwhelmed with the need to kiss Miguel until he’s breathless, to beg in between gasps for him to fill the aching emptiness in his cunt.
“You gotta stop blaming him for everything. You’re the one workin’ all the time, asshole.” Miles pouts.
“I’m joking, don’t be like that.” Miguel clears his throat, his eyes coming up to follow Miles’. “What’s going on up there?”
“Can you…?” Miles trails off, unable to finish his thought when Miguel’s hands are squeezing him, so close to where he needs him most.
Miguel pecks the side of his neck, urging him on. “Talk to me.”
“Can you please fuck me?” Miles murmurs. He takes a deep breath and inhales the smell, a perfect mix of a minty shampoo and solely Miguel.
Miguel raises his brows in apparent surprise, as if Miles hasn’t been shifting uncomfortably on his thigh for the entirety of that conversation. He stays quiet as he brings up a hand to pet Miles’ face, then places it on the back of his neck. He mouths at his jaw with a small smile on his lips.
“You had a nice dream, or what?” He asks against flushed skin, a laugh rumbling from deep in his chest.
Miles turns to catch the noise with a wet kiss, slipping a giggle of his own into his mouth. “Shuddup. You only ate me out once this week and that’s it. I’m pent up, papi.”
“Pent up, huh?” The muscles that press against him slightly double over his small body. “I’ll help you out then. Seems like it’s the least I can do after neglecting mi nenito like that.”
“Fuck yeah.”
Miguel hums, and doesn’t say anything else, seemingly waiting for Miles to fall back asleep. But Miles is stubborn where he stays on his thigh, searching for more kisses as he grinds on the steady surface. Miguel tries shushing him a couple of times, but it goes unnoticed as Miles spills slurred whispers against his lips.
“You’re not hard.” He complains with a shaking breath, bringing down a hand to grasp at Miguel’s cock. Instead, he ends up somewhere around his other thigh, completely missing the target in his hurry.
“I am definitely getting there.” Miguel reassures him, and attempts to rip the searching fingers from his leg. “I’ll give you what you want tomorrow morning, okay?”
Miles gapes at the information, before he jerks away with an offended gasp. “Nuh uh.”
“‘Nuh uh’?” Miguel repeats with a laugh. The whine Miles makes as he attempts to stop him from grinding is straight up whorish. “Dios, eres tan terco.”
Miles’ head spins, he’s so incredibly frustrated, and his clit gives a satisfactory drag over Miguel’s lap.
“Fuck, hold on – “ He whimpers, holding up a finger to silence Miguel. It effectively does so, and he slowly blinks once, twice, then down at their intertwined legs.
“What is it?” Miguel looks at him from behind furrowed eyebrows.
“’M so horny.”
“Hard not to notice, mi vida.” He chuckles, and Miles fights the grin that begins creeping onto his lips. When he can’t, he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in years.
“You jerk!” He keeps on laughing, throwing a hand over his mouth as his entire body shakes with it. “Fine, I’ll just use your thigh then.”
“Sure thing. Knock yourself out.” Miguel shrugs, and It’s only then that Miles finally notices the casual set of clothes that he’s wearing. He’s more than used to his shirtless torso and boxers, and it’d be far easier to come on Miguel’s leg if it was bare.
Nevertheless, his mouth is back on Miguel’s before he can say anything else, and with the granted permission, he melts into him with need. Miles opens his mouth without Miguel asking him to, licks against the teeth that close around his lower lip.
Miguel is solid and steady around his trembling body, and he brings his hips to roll over Miguel’s leg, right where his torso meets his thigh. Miguel doesn’t do anything other than humor his feverish kisses, his hands hovering over his ass, unmoving.
It’s almost like he’s waiting for Miles to tire himself out, so that he, himself, won’t have to convince him to give up. But Miles is determined, already lightheaded with arousal, his pussy wet and sticky against his underwear.
Without any remaining shame, he rocks up, planting his knees on the bed to get better leverage. The friction is almost too dry and uncomfortable, but the more he gives in to his desperation, the more he leaks, and in result the slide becomes satisfying after a moment or two.
Miguel realizes that Miles is closer than he first anticipated. He tries to stop the hurried pace he set with his little hips to no avail. “Miles.”
“Miguel.” Miles whines with a desperate tilt to his voice, warm pleasure swimming in the empty space that is his head. “Miguel, I just wanna cum.”
“Me estas matando.” Miguel groans into his neck, pitying the whimpering mess that Miles has turned into. He wraps his fingers around the underside of his legs, helping him move with a steady rhythm.
Miles is careless with it, now that he doesn’t have to worry about whether Miguel will push him off or not. He wants to laugh at how easily his boyfriend gives in, but he isn’t really able to in between muffled moans.
“Gimme your fingers.” He demands, arching his back at one particular good grind. “Ah!”
Miguel doesn’t respond. He chuckles against Miles’ mouth, which – rude, and then gives his own share of throaty noises. Miles swallows them all with delight, licking a lazy stripe over Miguel’s pulse, before sucking the skin into his mouth.
Miguel tugs at his shirt, then fists the loose fabric and brings it up to Miles’ lips. Miles is proud to receive the message rather quickly in his daze, and bites down on it in order to keep his chest exposed. When all Miguel does is continue staring, he groans.
“Ay, te quiero comer a besos, chiquito.” Miguel whispers against his collarbone. “Se siente bien?”
Miguel’s voice and words and accent do wonders to the heat in his gut, and he trembles slightly under his hands. He breaths harshly through his nose, and high pitched whimpers pour out of his mouth.
He attempts to answer before remembering that his mouth is stuffed full. Miguel lets out a quiet laugh, his breath spilling onto his chest. Miles jerks at the sensation, and then chokes when Miguel rolls one of his hardened nipples under his thumb.
“Mmm!” He cries out, instinctively rocking himself harder on his thigh. His clit throbs with the heat that sparks in his lower stomach. “Ngh – “
“I know. I’ll get you there, don’t worry.” Miguel coos, and moves to wrap his lips around the neglected nipple. His tongue swipes over the tip while his other hand squeezes his ass, and that’s all it takes to send Miles over the edge.
His orgasm almost comes unexpected with how hard it crushes down on him, forcing obscene noises from his throat as he shakes in Miguel’s arms.
He’s sticky with how hard he’s grinding against the fabric of his boxers, and it almost embarrasses him enough to quiet down. But Miguel is still licking and sucking on his chest, and his back arches as he moans into the soaked shirt that’s in between his teeth.
Eventually, he slows down the frantic movements of his hips, but as soon as the pleasure subsides, all the need and desperation come back full force. He huffs in slight frustration when grinding against Miguel’s thigh doesn’t satisfy him anymore.
He feels empty, his cunt clenching around nothing as he comes down from his high.
Ironically, Miguel decides to voice the exact opposite of that. He pecks Miles, whispering into his mouth, “Happy?”
When he pulls back, Miles’ head is reeling again, blood rushing to flush his face a pretty color. Miguel looks entirely ruined, despite having been neglected the entire time. His brows furrow and his pupils are blown wide and dark, his lips parted and coated with spit from all the messy kisses Miles forced on him.
Miles’ mind goes blank at the sight, and his breath hitches with a sound he didn't know he could make. “Fuck me? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Miles, no.” Miguel denies him once more, only now the difficulty in his words is obvious. He clenches his eyes shut when Miles searches for his clothed cock. Again. “I’m tired.”
It’s the closest thing to a bratty whine and Miles nods with a cheeky smile. “I’ll do the double penetration thing you wanted to try.”
“Fine.” Miguel huffs.
Miles beams, and moves in order to lay on his back. Miguel clicks his tongue, disapproving, and pulls him to the side until they’re spooning. Miguel finally reaches out to pull at his pants and boxers, while Miles clumsily undoes his own. Then Miguel gives him another kiss before reaching to part his legs.
Miles hears Miguel suck in a breath when he sees the mess in between his quivering thighs. His folds are glistening with slick, pulsing red and swollen at the continuing stimulation.
Miguel shifts and pushes him forward, so that his body is propped by the pillows. Miles is already moving a hand to rub at his oversensitive clit, crying out with each delicious grind that his slender fingers offer.
Then, Miguel’s hand pushes against his own, shocking him with sensation as he slips two fingertips into his dripping folds.
“Yes.” Miles throws his head back, bucking his hips against Miguel. “I’m ready, just gimme your dick. Please – ”
He shifts his legs, hooks one of his thighs over Miguel’s and blindly grabs at his cock. Miguel exhales shakily, guiding himself deeper into his pussy. There’s no resistance thanks to his previous orgasm, and Miles’ walls pulse around the well-awaited intrusion.
Miguel watches him through half-lidded eyes, and makes a small, pathetic noise at the back of his throat. Miles mimics the sound, his mouth hanging open around a silent moan.
Miguel is so incredibly thick, filling him up in all the right places. Miles cries out as his pussy tightens around the thickness of his cock, satisfaction climbing up his spine with a shudder. The words that come out of him are surely impossible to understand.
“I’m reaching for your neck. Is that okay?” Miguel whispers, knowing that Miles is probably fighting his overstimulation just to accept his girth.
In response, Miles nods enthusiastically, and takes Miguel’s wrist to speed the process. He isn’t moving much – not until Miguel starts giving him slow, hard thrusts, at least. Only then, he begins meeting his hips, and his head hits the pillows with a soft noise.
“C’mon – ,” Miles keeps murmuring, gasping when Miguel presses hard against his throat and It immediately has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. “Fuuuck, please. Harder.”
Miguel simply complies, and kisses him as he withers and shakes under his heavy arm. He moves slow but efficient, and he hits just as deep, because he knows exactly how to exhaust Miles in every way that’s important. The angle of his hips is calculated, rhythmically setting the pace of his thrusts.
Little noises escape Miles as he grabs at the hand that is beginning to constrict his airway. Miguel licks and sucks the skin of his throat, nuzzling his nose into the flesh with a pleasant hum. He increases the pace in the slightest, and applies more hurried enthusiasm into the movements of his hips, which assault Miles’ spot perfectly.
Miles chokes on the drool gathering under his tongue, and sucks in a hard moan when Miguel brings his other hand to lift up his leg a bit higher. His cock slips in even more, impossibly so, and it forces a strangled sound from Miles’ sore throat. His nails scratch down Miguel’s biceps, and in response Miguel bites into his neck.
“Te sientes tan bien, nene.” He groans into his ear, his voice dripping with desire and need. “You’re so perfect around me, so good. So – “ Miles cries out when his pelvis brushes over his clit, sending him spasming. “Don’t move, mi vida, I can’t help you like that. Stay put.”
He emphasizes his words with another squeeze of his fingers, and Miles groans at the pressure that’s on his neck. He feels body tingling with another feeling, a burning blue that hides right under his skin, and it’s alarming because that hasn’t happened before. Not during sex. That’s a whole other level of embarrassing.
He desperately tries to warn Miguel, but he only takes it as a sign to pinch his clit and start rubbing him rapidly. Miles wants the pulsing slide of his cock to last forever, but right now, he’s so close to finishing with a few voltages of bioelectricity that all he can do is cry and whine. All he hears is the slapping of their skin, all he can see and feel is Miguel’s grasp on him.
“Miguel – “ he whimpers, arching further at the sweet movement of his fingers. “Miguel, ‘msoclose, fuck – “
“Esta bien, bebe.” He feels Miguel nod against his throat, and his hip stutter just a bit. “I am too. Let go, it’s gonna feel good.”
“No, no, I’m – “ Miguel slows down and somehow that is what causes Miles to pant uncontrollably, the burning inside him unsatisfied. “Don’t make me cum – “
“Miles – ” Miguel starts, his body coming to a stop entirely. He lifts up his head and props himself on an elbow. “What do you need?”
Miles hesitates, and he keeps unconsciously rocking Miguel’s cock inside him. He gathers his voice and whispers, “Nothing, it’s nothing. My powers just – I’m gonna zap you if I cum. ‘M sorry.”
Miguel blinks at him, his face blank, and his brows are raised high to hide behind his ruffled hair. The expression slowly melts to give room for something softer, and Miguel pets Miles’ stomach. He removes his fingers from his neck for a moment, instructing Miles to breathe, as he’s been holding the air in his lungs.
Once he releases it, Miguel shakes his head with a chuckle, sliding his cock as deep as it can go. “I don’t mind, you know that. Feel free to finish as hard as you can, chiquito.”
“But – “
Miguel shushes him with a peck of his lips, licking into his mouth and sighing happily. Miles allows himself to relax around him, shuddering under the warm hand that travels back towards his sensitive bud, accompanied by a slow thrust.
“I love seeing you like this, mi vida.” Miguel’s hand comes from behind Miles and returns to where it was against Miles’ throat. Miles nods eagerly, his own enthusiasm slowly creeping back into his gut.
It takes a moment, but soon after Miguel’s hips move faster, more frantic than before, and he gives a long moan into Miles’ mouth. The sound travels through the room, all the way to Miles’ ears, and it gives him the motivation to begin meeting Miguel’s thrusts once again.
He bucks down to meet him halfway, and grips the arm that bruises his neck. “It’s so good, Miguel – I’m sorry, m’so sorry, fuuuck – “
Miguel rubs furiously at his clit, and the noises coming out of him are heavier, indicating that he’s very close as well. His teeth sink into the flesh of his collarbone with a shock of delicious pain, and Miles finishes. Hard and burning.
His face is pinched at the warm sensation traveling through his nervous system, the pleasure of his orgasm only intensified with the sparks of blue light that come from him. His limbs tremble and he throws his head back, crying out as Miguel keeps rubbing his insides raw.
It’s so incredibly good, despite it shocking and frying every nerve in his body. His pussy squeezes hard on Miguel’s cock, and he keeps grinding down because it’s so deep in his core it feels never ending.
“Bebe – “ Miguel gasps. “Te amo, nene – mmm, me vas hacer correr – “
“Inside, inside – “ Miles babbles with urgency, biting on his lower lip.
“Mi vida, no – “
He had thought about it a lot, despite being heavily against breeding talk in the bedroom. He’s beginning to think that he might understand the appeal now, as he feels his pussy clench with the sheer possibility that Miguel could knock him up. The thought makes him dizzy with desire, with the primal need to feel him spilling hot and wet inside.
Unlike him, Miguel doesn’t need to think much in order to know that he should absolutely pull out.
He feels when Miguel shifts to grab his cock and he fists it in between Miles’ legs. He’s panting and whimpering as he spills all over Miles’ inner thighs, his hand working quick, circular motions over the head of his length.
Eventually he moves back and releases his teeth from Miles’ shoulder. Blood is smeared over his lips and Miles feels the satisfactorily ache in his muscles. He sags happily into the bed, hazy with pleasure as Miguel brings a t-shirt to clean his ruined cunt and thighs.
“Good?” Miguel wonders, slipping back under the covers, and wrapping Miles’ small body with his own.
Miles lazily throws his stained boxers to the floor, and adjusts his shirt so that it covers him properly. He should probably go to the bathroom and pee before he finally sleeps again, but he’s so bonelessly exhausted that he can’t bring himself to move.
“I zapped you.” Is all he manages to say, pouting into the pillow as he brushes his fingers through Miguel’s curls. “S’gonna leave a mark tomorrow.”
“It’s worth your orgasm, hermoso. Go back to sleep and don’t worry about me, si?” Miguel strokes where his ear meets his jaw.
“M’kay. Thank you.”
Just as Miles’ breaths begin to even out, and he entirely slumps on the warmth of Miguel’s body, Miguel murmurs, “Don’t think I missed that last part about finishing inside. We’re discussing it tomorrow.”