Archive of Our Own

Miguel wheezes, reaching out with what strength he has left. He's fading fast. Won't make it.

"I know," Peter soothes. "Deep breaths. You're taking it so good for me."

He throws his arm over his face to hide the tears starting to leak out. Right as he's about to sink his teeth into his own forearm to stifle the moans rumbling out of his chest it's just pulled away and pushed up over his head.

"Nuh-uh. You watch."

Though his vision is doubled he does as he's told. He watches Peter press down on his lower stomach with one hand and fuck him senseless with the other. Three thick fingers, not moving very fast but tapping up into his g-spot perfect.

He clutches at the bed, feeling his claws slice into it. The pillow under his back is cruel, keeping him arched so the tips of Peter's fingers hit dead-on. He feels like he's gonna die.

"Talk to me. Doing okay?" Peter's eyes are so soft and caring, as if he weren't fingering him to tears.

Miguel nods, hoping he doesn't-

"Use your words, kitty. You know better."

"Yes," he moans, voice rough. "Feels good."

"Good. Just relax. Let me get you there."

Peter drops his head to mouth along his neck. The stubble on his cheeks scratches at him so deliciously while he nips and licks across the underside of his jaw. He has to thread his fingers through Peter's hair and hold on to ground himself through the pleasure pulling him apart.

Just like he worried now that he's started making noise he can't stop. He's drawing embarrassing sounds out of him; long, deep moans, high, broken cries. It's so good that he doesn't care. Too good. Peter adjusts the hand on his stomach to swirl his thumb over his clit and it's all over. Miguel screams and clutches at Peter's hand to hold it still.

There's nothing there.

No fingers, no hand, no tongue, no Peter. Only him and the wet spot on his underwear, alone in the dark. Groggy and disoriented and deeply horny he looks to his side. The alarm clock reads 4:25 a.m.

He can't keep living like this.

He gets himself off before he heads in to work but he's still in a shit mood because that's not the problem. Any way, any day, he could get off if he wanted. There's even an alarming number of spiders he could have if he wanted, no problem. He's seen the group chat. All those options and it's not enough because it's not what he wants.

He can go into his bathroom right now and take the vibrator he's still embarrassed he bought off the charger and make himself cum in record time. He can pick a random phone number from that group chat without even verifying who it is first and have head delivered to his location within the hour. He doesn't want it. He wants Peter B. Parker in all his goofy, unserious glory. It's dramatic as all hell, he knows it is, but he can't make it stop.

"Here's the timeline summary for 1065."

"Put it over there. I'm busy."

He's met MJ before. She's a very nice lady, definitely more put together than he expected someone willing to marry Peter to be. There's no way he can look her in the eye ever again. Yes, ma'am, your husband made it back from his mission just fine. Before I send him home to you do you mind if I fuck him into next week first?

A popup window appears on the screen he's been zoning out in front of, blocking his view and startling the hell out of him.

"Damn it, I said that screen over there!"

"I tried. You must have something full-screen on it."

He's about to go off but he remembers what he does, in fact, have full-screen on that monitor. Too late.

"Wow, interesting choice of literature. Little narcissistic, though."

Miguel almost twists his hip out of socket turning to the computer screen. He hits the desktop button and the wall of text vanishes from sight but he knows Lyla parsed it already. Without another word he sits back at his desk and flicks the popup to where it was supposed to be. If he had his way they'd keep working like nothing happened, but since when have things ever gone his way?

"Do you...wanna talk about it?"

"Why the fuck would I want to talk about it?"

"You were reading a fanfiction about yourself getting a train run by five different anomalous villains. Clearly you're struggling with something. On and off the page."

"Butt out, would you? It's none of your business."

"Hmm. Okay."

She drops it surprisingly easily. Too easy. It's almost absolutely going to bite him in the ass later but he's got bigger fish to fry. Like who he's gonna find to bite his ass. It's too far gone now. The toys won't cut it because it's only half the problem. He needs to be held down, needs fingers in his mouth, in his-

The screens surrounding him go solid white, every last one. Down.

"Lyla-" he grits, fully prepared to disconnect her.

"Nuh-uh, not me. Restructure."

He checks the error code and she's right. For once, there's no way he can blame her. The multiverse is a naturally fluid thing. Ripples, waves, timelines undergoing organic changes that echo down the line. When it happens it's too dangerous to travel, interfere, sometimes even observe. As a precaution the system locks everyone out until things stabilize. Once again, his system is down for an indeterminate amount of time and he has to occupy himself. Maybe he's receiving comeuppance for something.

"Why don't you go get some food while it's down? You skipped dinner yesterday. You're already violent, we can't stand you hangry."

"You know what I can't stand-"

"Mysterio, baby oil. Venom symbiote, chocolate syrup. Get out of here or I'll keep going."

He trudges off the platform and out of the lab, muttering curses. He knew he should have just read it on his tablet.

The cafeteria is fairly slow between meals so there aren't many spiders there when he arrives. He's able to settle at a corner table with an empanada and some curly fries alone, in peace. Unfortunately, Lyla was right. He was hungrier than he thought he was. While he eats he scrolls through the latest posts to the group chat. He joined with a burner number and so far nobody's really noticed he's there. There’s the obligatory pinned posts with rules; no minors, no spam, so on. Basic, boring. Below that the conversation ranges from 'I saw Miguel bite someone last mission' and a flood of 'god I wish that were me' to blurry shots of his ass taken from a distance and things like 'one bite PLEASE' and 'until I run out of web'. Truthfully it doesn't bother him. He knows his ass is great.

He's considering looking one of the nameless numbers up and seeing if he can earn himself some company when he hears it. Hears him.

"Miguel! There you are, buddy!"

He wonders if he could die on command if he focused hard enough.

Peter plops himself into the seat across from him. He's got on that stupid pink bathrobe but no baby bjorn.

"Lyla told me I'd find you here."

He's going to erase lines of her code while she's still active.

"She said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

He's going to get his hands on a copy of the Morris worm and watch her fight for her life.

"She got you confused with someone else."

"Did she, though? I feel like you're just saying that because you don't wanna talk to me."

"Figure that out by yourself?"

Just then, something curious happens.

Peter's phone goes off, some obnoxious chirp of a text tone at full volume. He doesn't realize it but Miguel's phone goes off too, on silent in his hand. Like they got the same message. Under the guise of ignoring him he checks it, at a safe angle, of course.

It's a message to the group chat.

Another picture of his ass, an action shot this time. He's nearly spread eagle, what was he doing? Picking up that crate of components for the new batch of watches, he remembers. This is what he gets for using his knees rather than his back. Objectified for lifting safely. It's a good shot, though. If it was any clearer you could make out the barest crease of camel toe that he's tried everything to get rid of. Wearing underwear under his suit might help, but that's not likely to happen. He does wonder who took it. The area he was in is fairly restricted.

Peter's still talking, mostly to himself. Not noticing Miguel watch as he types something on his phone. Not seeing his eyes widen as a new message posts the minute he stops.

'I'd do anything for him to do that on my face.'

Replies pour in, 'SAME', 'I'd punch my own Ben', 'Ben, May AND MJ', Peter's phone dinging all the while.

"-so unless she's got some kinda lying virus I think it was me. A lie-rus, if you will. Will you?"

Miguel just sits there. Dumbfounded.

"I know it was a good joke but it shouldn't have baked your noodle like that. See, like lie-"

Miguel starts, one number at a time until he's recited Peter's phone number to him. He's confused, quiet for once in his life. Though it's a little hard to do Miguel holds his eyes while he types and hits send.

'Do it' posts to the chat, quickly swept up and ignored in the mess of others coming in. But Peter sees it. Or he's gone deathly pale for an unrelated reason.

"I can explain."

"So do it."

"Do it, explain or do it, like, uh-"

"Did you mean it?"

"My spidey-senses are going crazy right now and I'm kinda into it and honestly, I don't know what that says about me."

"Last chance." He's bluffing. God, is he bluffing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I, uh... I mean it."

Miguel stands up so fast his chair scoots back with a terrible squeak. It garners some looks but once they see it's him they lose interest. He could be offended that everyone considers something that dramatic on-brand for him. But after all, they're right.

"Come with me."

He turns and starts back to his room at an embarrassingly brisk pace, not once looking to see if Peter's following him. If he doesn't maintain this momentum he's likely to lose control and straddle him right there in the hallway. Peter's uncharacteristically quiet, so much that it's beginning to worry him. Selfish as it may be it occurs to him for the first time that he may be having some issues justifying cheating on his wife. It's obviously not stopping either of them, though. Not while they're walking back, not while they're going into his room and locking the door behind them.

"You're not killing me. Yet. You haven't killed me yet. Why am I-"

"You think I brought you here to kill you?"

Peter scrubs a hand through his hair. His perfectly salt and pepper hair. He's gotta speed this up.

"I mean, I just said I wanted you to sit on my face in a group chat full of other spider-people."

"So let's get on with it, then."

For the first time it seems like he understands the situation by how wide his eyes blow.

"You- wait, wait. You want to? With me? You hate me."

Miguel sighs. This is partially his fault. Well, it's wholly his fault. But he's only accepting part of it.

"I don't hate you. It's...possible that I've been avoiding you for...other reasons."

"Like?" Every time I see you I want to pin you down and ride you until one of us screams.

"Being around you was...distracting."

"Distracting how?" Because I couldn't work and think about you fingering me through my suit under the table.

"Because I-" he stops himself, but at this point it's no use. The cards are already on the table. "I want you. And I know you're married and I shouldn't put you in a position to cheat on MJ but-"

"Look, let me explain before you get the wrong idea, alright? I'm not cheating on MJ."

Well, now he feels stupid. What was he expecting, honestly? For this happily married man to have sex with him just because he commented on a picture of his ass? This is why he hates getting horny like this. It clouds his judgement.

"We have an understanding." That's a sentence that could mean anything. "We'd been separated for so long that she'd started to move on, and I - well, I would've moved on if I could have, I just never got out much, y'know how it is. And we've been together since we were young and never really got to try very much - anyway. We agreed this kind of thing is okay, within reason and all that as long as we're honest and check in first."

"So you can fuck me, you just have to ask your wife's permission first."

"See, that's funny, cause I sorta already asked in advance. Like a few days, maybe closer to a month or three ago. And she gave me like, this open pass for you specifically, isn't that funny? Such a sense of humor on that girl, I love her."

Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose. This has been such a fuckin' rollercoaster.

"Why?"

"I dunno, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm in a thirst group chat about you? If you never caught on I've had a thing for you since, well, just since. And if somehow you ever looked at me without wanting to squash me like a bug I wanted to be ready."

It's the strangest mix of frustration and relief that Peter's wanted him the same way for nearly as long.

"Out of curiosity, am I the only one from the group chat you plan to sleep with? Not for egotistical reasons or anything, I just-"

Miguel shoots him a glare, a warning not to turn a yes into a no.

"What I meant is I'm sorry about the group chat. Very, very sorry. It's tasteless and disrespectful and if you wanna make us get rid of it and the shared drive then-"

"Shut it."

"Shutting it."

"Take your clothes off."

Peter complies, a little hastily but he's no stranger to his enthusiasm. Just better at hiding it for the time being.

"I don't see, like, Michael Bay levels of action but I'm pretty sure you should be-"

Predicting him a mile off Miguel presses a toggle hidden on his wrist and his suit fizzles away leaving him bare. He's not shy, especially in front of a man who's made the claims he's made in that group chat.

"Wow. Wow. Okay, let me, uh-" He struggles getting out of his suit, and the fact that it doesn't kill the mood devastates him. When he's finally naked Miguel can say he's fairly impressed. Soft around the middle like he was bound to be but obviously strong. Salt and pepper happy trail leading down, down to a dick he's too prideful to say makes him throb. Comparable to his toy, but just barely thicker. And hot, and hardening as Peter rakes his eyes down his form. No, he's getting off track. It's nice but it's not what he's after now. What he wants is-

"Like the angle of the dangle? If not I can get on the ceiling."

His mouth. Bonus of sitting on his face, it'll shut him up.

Miguel, fully ignoring him, sits on the bed and Peter follows. It's a little awkward at first. Peter kind of just hovers nearby. Looking like he wants to touch him but never making a move.

"Are we just going to sit here, or...?"

"No, no. I just- I don't wanna do anything you don't like. I know I can be a goof sometimes but I'm not careless. This all started kinda wild but I..." Peter looks at him so gently, just like he has in every dream he's had about this very moment. "I really want you to enjoy this."

They're sitting there naked but that, the look in his eye and the kindness in his voice is what turns him on more than anything.

"Do whatever you want. I'll tell you if I don't like it."

"What about what you? What do you want?"

Miguel doesn't have to think very hard. He starts in across the space between them and Peter meets him. Surprisingly he's a very good kisser. Damn good. It's perfect to make them both stop thinking and start touching. Peter's hands are hot and pleasantly rough where they paw at his waist and down over his hips. It makes Miguel open his legs in invitation. One that Peter seems to miss. He's distracted by his chest, kneading it in his hands, petting at his nipples. It quickly becomes obvious just how long it's been since someone else has touched him. Just a little kissing and a little bit of touching has him shamefully wet. His breath is picking up into a pant that makes him lightheaded and takes all coordination from him. God, kiss drunk like some teenager, dripping onto his comforter and he's barely even touched him. This is embarrassing.

He's got to do something. He doesn't know what, he just needs more. When Peter pulls away he feels like he could scream with how pent up he suddenly is. The feeling doesn't last, because he’s pushing gently at his shoulders until Miguel goes back. Laying there, watching him settle over him makes something stir in him. The object of his fantasies, sucking hickies under his chin, trailing kisses down his body, pulling his legs open to lie between them. He feels like he could burst.

And he's not shy, never has been, but a shiver runs down his spine at Peter looking up at him, so brazenly settling his face between his legs. It really has been a while, hasn't it?

"Is this okay? A little warmup, y'know? Not to horn my own toot but I'm pretty good-"

"Are you going to talk the whole time?"

"Probably," Peter answers honestly.

"Then at least do it on my clit. Come on."

When he saw him get down there he wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen but it wasn't this, what he's doing. He start at his knees, running kisses up the inside of one, along his thigh and hip, over his lower stomach and back down the other. Then in with his hands, massaging his thighs gently, spreading them even farther to give himself more room to work. It's surprisingly thorough foreplay, definitely more competent than he was expecting. By the time he gets anywhere near his clit he's beyond ready.

“I never took you for a shaver,” Peter comments.

Carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort in his face he spreads his lips open with his thumbs.

“Wow, that’s smooth. Did you wax?”

“Hair can keep the molecules of the suit from adhering properly. I shave where I can’t afford a glitch.”

The cool air is downright frigid on his hot flesh, even colder with the wetness coating his inner thighs but not for long. The warmth of Peter's hand chases the cold away as he pets up his slit with the broad flat of his fingers and then back down. The motion is like a grope, and it crosses a wire somewhere in Miguel's lust hazed mind. One upstroke swirls; four fingers working over his clit slow and firm.

"Fuck," he moans without meaning to. He wants to close his eyes and enjoy it but he can't look away from Peter so transfixed fondling him. Next time he should get him to do it through the suit. He's not sure where that fantasy came from but it's had him in a chokehold for weeks now. Just thinking about it makes him rut his hips into Peter's hand.

"Need some more?"

He nods, determined to keep quiet. But it seems he has a odd sense of which dreams to manifest into reality, because he looks up at him with a look in his eye Miguel's never seen before.

"Use your words. You can tell me what you need just like you'd tell me what you don't like. Tell me what you need."

“I- I don’t know. Just more.” And something’s come over him because “please,” slips out at the end. This isn’t at all like him. Even he expected himself to just toss Peter on the bed and take what he needed but then again this isn’t what he expected from Peter. He’s much more skilled than he thought he would be, with a dominant edge to him that should feel out of place but somehow doesn’t, even with him spouting nonsense every few minutes. It’s bringing something else out of him, something that makes him want to just lay back and take whatever he gives him. The word is submit, he thinks to himself. Then Peter’s pressing his middle finger into him and he couldn’t give a damn what it’s called.

It’s just one finger but it’s so good. Just a bit more than a tease, making him dizzy with how badly he wants more. As if he needed any more warming up. Every crook of his finger makes a squelch that makes blush rise to his cheeks. One stroke feels a little too good and he knows it has to stop or he’ll never last.

“That’s enough,” he pants, voice strained. “Get up here.”

Peter does and the minute he’s in reach Miguel pulls him into a kiss that he didn’t know he was capable of. It’s filthy and sloppy and sets him on fire. He’s wanted Peter but now he needs him. He flips them and pins him to the bed with a little more force than necessary but he doesn’t complain. Slow and calculated he settles over his head, one of his thick thighs on either side of his head. Peter runs his hands over them, absolutely mesmerized.

“Three taps,” he mutters, almost absentmindedly. He taps his hip three times, hard enough to not mistake for anything else. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Suddenly he’s nervous. Inches from sitting on his face and now he’s nervous. He drops his hips until he feels himself brush against Peter’s mouth. A tremor runs through him. He’s prepared to stop there but Peter’s grabbing him by the waist.

“No, you don’t. Sit. I said sit on my face not above my face.”

“You realize I could probably break your neck?”

“You realize I could break-” he mocks in a stupid little voice. It would irritate him if he wasn’t so turned on. “You’ve watched me lift cars before. You think you’re heavier than a car?”

“You didn’t lift it with your neck.”

“So what? Bones are the same, it’s fine. If I die then I die.”

“Peter.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, alright? Three taps if I need to breathe, four if my neck hurts.”

“I really think we should-”

“If you don’t wanna sit then don’t. But if you’re gonna sit then sit.”

And it’s not a request. He never thought Peter would take charge like this but he is, and it’s making him ache for it. Cautiously he prepares to ease his weight down but he’s not having it. There’s no time for him to protest. Peter opens his mouth and pulls him down until his full weight rests on it. He’s never cum on the spot before but he nearly does. From there Peter doesn’t waste a second. Every trick in the book, laving his tongue back and forth over his hole and all the soft flesh there he can reach, slurping with just the right amount of suction. He closes his lips around the underside of his clit before going back to work, grips handfuls of his ass in his hands.

It’s no time at all before he’s a mess. His thighs are shaking, his eyes are rolling back into his head. He’s barely able to contain his noises. Even with his hand over his mouth and doing his best to hold back he’s still panting out whines with every exhale. It’s so much better than anything he could’ve ever fantasized. As good as he feels that sober part of him is so disappointed: there’s no way he can do without this now.

Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes just from how overwhelming the sensation of having his soul lapped out of him is. Peter’s hands wander down his ass until the reach the swell of the underside. All Miguel can do is sit there, scandalized as he pulls them apart to give himself even more room to circle his hole, dip his tongue as far inside as he can.

Maybe he is shy after all, because his blush starts to burn beet red. There’s something so dirty about it that makes him gush down his chin. Three taps to his hip and he summons the strength to lift himself up. Peter gasps underneath him.

“Good?” Miguel breathes, still very concerned about smothering him. Peter only moans in response. He looks down to check on him and he’s just as much of a mess. His face is flushed and soaked and completely lax with pleasure. Miguel must be taking too long to sit back down because he pulls him back, groaning when his tongue makes contact again.

That makes his back arch more than before, and drags his clit over the bridge of Peter’s nose. He makes such an awful noise, anh, nasal and from deep in his chest. He knows once his mind clears he’ll hear it in his nightmares but right now all he can think about is how he can arch to do it again.

Peter grips his hips and he thinks he’s about to tap again, but instead he drags him forward then back just right. His worries about smothering him all but vanish. He moves slowly at first, rocking back and forth, picking up speed until he’s riding his face. His hips roll and swirl, completely out of his conscious control. There’s nothing he could do to stop the cries bubbling out of him. He can’t see straight between the haze in his mind and his eyes halfway in his head. Either way all he can see of Peter between his thighs is his hair. He roots his hands there, holding his head and stroking his fingers through more gently than he thinks he means to. They flex with the effort it takes to keep his claws from extending. Through the moans and whines words start coming without his permission.

“Just like that. Ah - right there, fuck,”

Peter moans under him at the praise, gripping his thighs even harder. For the first time Miguel notices that both his hands are where he can see them. He’s not paying any attention to himself. Eating him stupid is his sole focus. He thinks it’s only courteous to reach back behind himself and stroke him along but to his surprise Peter takes his hand and plants it back in his hair.

I really want you to enjoy this.

His words come back to and send Miguel into overdrive. The first time he moans his name is involuntarily. It just slips out. The next time and the time after that he does it on purpose, and he won’t even allow himself to care. He’s moaning the name of a man he watched eat four pints of butter pecan ice cream and get a stomachache, only to lie down for an hour and then eat four more. He does most things just a little bit more wrong than right, but eating pussy is not one of them.

“Peter, Peter, ha- ohh, Peter. Oh, shit, oh- ahn, shit!” The pleasure in his stomach thins to a razor’s edge. “I’m gonna cu- mmh, fuck!”

Too late. It’s too much all at once, threatening to turn every nerve in his body inside out. He tries to raise up just a little to spare himself the intensity but Peter’s faster. He holds him down, won’t let him budge an inch and doesn’t stop for a second. He suffers the full brunt of his orgasm, shaking and wailing and trying his best not to crush the poor man’s head between his thighs.

When he’s done he raises up onto his still trembling knees. Peter inhales, slow and controlled, face glistening. He lays there catching his breath, and Miguel isn’t sure what to say to him.

He settles for “Okay?”

His eyes crack open and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Phenomenal.”

He lets out a curiously satisfied sigh and groan that Miguel doesn’t really understand until he moves from over his head and looks back at him. Cum streaks his stomach, almost reaching his chest. Well, when he’s right he’s right.

“Really?”

“Oh, please. That was for me as much as it was for you and you know it. And damn, was it good.”

“Yeah,” he starts, wanting to hesitate. “It was really good.”

“You know, you’re a lot more vocal than I thought you’d be.”

“Shut up.”

“You are! I expected you to be such a stick in the mud but you were really getting into it-”

“For fuck’s sake, shut up.”

Getting cleaned up together goes surprisingly easily. Peter makes his stupid quips and Miguel pretends to ignore them but some do genuinely make him chuckle. This was never part of the fantasy. He always woke up, or came before he could imagine the aftercare. It’s better than whatever he could have come up with. Peter’s gentle with him, washing him in the shower and massaging moisturizing oil into his skin after. Once he’s sure he doesn’t plan to kick him out immediately he lays down with him in another suspiciously cleaned bed. Miguel’s not usually a cuddler but he’s not about to turn it down today. He’s boneless and sleepy and uncharacteristically docile. He doesn’t think he could get angry right now if he tried.

“So, what are we looking at, here?” Peter asks eventually, making no sense as per usual. See, just like he thought. He’s not angry, just mildly amused. “Was this just to scratch an itch or something more habitual, y’know?”

Miguel says nothing. Not because he hasn’t decided, he just wants to hear how he’ll talk himself in a circle.

“And it’s no pressure, nothing like that. I just had a really good time and I think you did too and I dunno, I think you could use this a couple times a week. ‘Cause not to sound critical or anything, but by Wednesday your attitude is in the dumps, I’m talking a real Groucho Marx. And I mean, so could I. My attitude is fine, I just love doin’ it. But you saw that yourself, didn’t- You’re smirking. What’s the smirk. What do you know that I don’t?”

“I just wanted to see how long you were gonna keep going.”

“Yeah, okay. Smirk all you want.”

“Are you done or did you have some more left?”

“Whatever. You know what, admit it. You’re going soft on me.”

“Never, in your wildest dreams. But,” Miguel pauses, becoming aware of the hand, his own hand that’s been playing in Peter’s hair the whole time. “I think you’re right. We could keep this up. If that’s okay with your wife. I’ll have to get used to that, I guess.”

“You kidding? She’s the one who put me in the group chat.”

Peter gasps, the sound of a man who’s just put his foot clean down his throat. Between her and Lyla it seems he’s made more enemies than friends of the women in his life. But here he is, well taken care of and thoroughly satisfied beyond all his fantasies so it may well be the other way around.

“You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have any snacks in here, would you?”

He decides the jury is still out.