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The bubbling of Myles’ stained glass bong is the first sign of disaster.
“I just think it’s crazy that you have that much freedom.” Miles says, exhaling a cloud of smoke that veils the air in swirls of gray. His eyes are low and glossed over and they burn a warm red as they survey the contents of Myles’ room.
“You’re literally Spider-Man.” Myles reaches for the neck of the bong and brings it between his legs, beckoning the lighter into his hands. “It’d be pretty hard to hide that if you had no freedom.”
Miles huffs out a laugh. “C’mon, I didn’t say I have no freedom. Just… not as much. I go to this fancy charter school that I live at, and my dad’s a cop, my Mom… you know, it’s like she’s got eyes on the back of her head. It’s hard to hide. I’m just sayin’... it’d be easier if I could be Spider-Man without worrying about getting caught all the time. You know?”
“Are you complaining right now?” Myles asks, bringing his lips over the bong again, flicking the lighter on. He breathes in deep and lets the smoke tear into his lungs. “You’ve got it good, man.” He mouths in between coughs, passing the bong over.
They’re seated on Myles’ bed in the deep, deep hours of the night. His mother is working an overnight shift, and now that he thinks about it, that does make it easier to hide hide alter-ego from her. In a way, he should be grateful, but he’d like to see more of his mother up and about, rather than exhausted and weary from work right before he heads to school.
Miles breathes out a huff of smoke, shaking his head as he leans back against the wall. “Nah. Not really. I’m really grateful… Just… I dunno. You know how you call me ‘Goody-Two Shoes’? I wouldn’t be much of one if… I had less eyes on me.”
Miles is feeling the full-effects of smoking right about now, not that he’s surprised. As far as Myles knows, he doesn’t smoke often, if ever, because of the random drug tests they do at his school. His words are slurring and he’s taking in deep, purposeful breaths, like he’s trying to regain control of himself.
“That’s enough for you.” Myles mumbles, bringing his bong back in his lap. “You think I’m some kinda thug or somethin’?”
“No!” Miles waves his hands, “No, not… I mean. I just feel like you’ve done a lot more… criminal stuff… than me.”
“Criminal stuff? You’re literally an outlaw.”
“Shut up.” Miles huffs out a laugh, “You know what I mean.”
“I do, but I’m not like that, man. I get straight A’s, and I’m in a robotics club—”
“That makes sense.”
Myles pauses to take another hit before placing his bong on his bedside. That’s enough, for now, he’s pleasantly high and in a decent mood. He doesn’t feel like wasting all of his weed in one go.
“But I… don’t do anything. Outside of being the Prowler, I mean. It’s easy. Goin’ around busting heads, ain’t shit to it. Got a lot of anger, seen enough shit, so I can stomach the things I do under the mask. Outside of that…?” Myles paused, trying to find the words. When his eyes are on his counterpart, he’s staring back with the attentiveness of someone who is actually trying to get to know him. Unable to bear the weight of it, he looks away. “I just go to school, go to my club, go home and work on my tech… Play video games or… I dunno, boring shit.”
“I kind of imagined you as like… I dunno, kinda like my Uncle Aaron. Like, a ladies man? A bunch of girl’s dying to be on your arm. Everyone’s kinda scared of you?” Miles sounds like he’s just throwing out scenarios and hoping one of them sticks. None do. “So, you’re a nerd.”
“Sure.” Myles answers with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t do… girls. I mean—I do, I guess. I don’t date. It’s… not for me. Never has been, probably never will.”
This fact acquires Miles’ attention, and he sits up straight to place his palms on his knees, disbelieving. “You seriously don’t date? You’ve never been on a single date before?”
“Nah, man.” Myles shrugs. “Not interested. Keeping this kind of secret from someone I’m seeing feels… risky. I ain’t got time for none of that.”
“Not even a kiss?”
They’re breaching uncomfortable territory, but Myles is too stoned to care. “No.”
“Damn.” Miles goes lax and leans back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve got way, way more experience than you. That’s … crazy.”
“Is it?”
“It is!” Miles is looking at him again. “I mean… I get asked out all the time! We have each other’s faces, girls don’t ask you out?”
“I’m not Mr. Friendly. No. People are scared of me, they don’t ask me out.”
Myles has never thought of it as much of a problem. He’s aware of people’s attraction to him. He constantly hears mutters about him in the halls, the awkward way a few of his classmates attempt to strike up conversation with him and the blushing cheeks of a few underclassmen, that doesn’t mean he entertains any of it. He finds that it’s much easier to keep himself shelved away in a case of fragile glass, outside looking in.
“By the time you get your first kiss, you’re gonna suck. ”
“Thanks for giving me something to look forward to.” Myles replies dryly. “It’s just… kissing. Sounds easy enough.”
“You think you’ll be able to pick it up that easy?” Miles is looking at him and it’s almost tangible, the way his cheeks tingle from the weight of Miles’ stare.
Myles shrugs. “If you can do it, I can definitely do it. It’s just a fuckin’ kiss. Can’t be any harder than swinging through the city.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The silence lingers for a few seconds and Myles studies the swirls of smoke in the room, and the thin film of smoke that casts a gray overlay in the entire area. It’s stuffy , he thinks to himself, but doesn’t have the energy to walk to his window to open it. He’s content in sitting here, listening to the sound of Miles’ breathing and the creaking of the ceiling from the tenants upstairs.
“We should kiss.” Miles says, cutting through the silence with utmost confidence. “I mean, it’d be like… practice. For you, I mean. I’ve had plenty. I got game. I don’t know about you but…”
“You’re a damn dog.” Myles breathes out, and the suggestion feels like a punch to the ribs, knocking all of the air out of him. “Can’t be harder than engineering. It’s just a damn kiss.”
Why isn’t he saying no? This is a terrible, terrible idea. Both of them are comfortably high, and every touch on his skin at this very moment feels too warm and inviting. He’s noticed the way goosebumps follow in Miles’ wake whenever he brushes against his arm, or snakes an arm around his neck, or whispers in his ear. The smart, logical idea is to say no, nip this at the bud before it becomes too much.
“Doesn’t sound like a no to me.” Miles’ voice is equal parts hopeful and excited. His fingers thrum earnestly against his thighs, his previous slouch long gone and bringing about perfect posture. He’s staring at Myles’ lips all while licking his own. He’s sure if he concentrated long enough, he could imagine dog ears and a tail wagging excitedly at his rear.
“Because it’s not.” Myles says, beside himself. “Not like you could teach me anything else.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re so… cocky.” Miles doesn’t seem annoyed in the slightest. He crawls forward bringing himself closer to Myles. He stops just in between Myles’ legs with how brows furrowed, his hands hovering awkwardly for only a moment before resting on his thighs. “You’re… sure, right? You’re not just saying yes because—”
“Don’t make me change my mind.” Myles grouses. He finds that he’s just as eager too, his heart leaps in his chest and stutters with every passing beat. “I said yes. You know you can’t make me do shit I don’t wanna.”
With Miles on his knees and Myles seated comfortably with his legs spread, for once, Myles is allowing his counterpart to look down at him. He tilts his chin upwards and meets Miles’ heady gaze, his eyes are beckoning Miles forward but he’s… hesitating. He’s drinking in the sight of Myles, glowing purple in the lights of the city and the gentle glow of the blue light near his desk.
He doesn’t have on any of his gear, his mask is resting comfortably in his uncle’s flat, comfortable in his civvies. He’s fully clothed, and yet, he feels naked under Miles’ gaze, picking him apart with big, gentle brown eyes. They’re his own, but they hold a warmth in its pupils that was snuffed out of Myles when his father died. Despite himself, he holds his gaze, reaching out to gently fist Miles’ shirt and gently tug him downward.
“You scared?” Myles asks, a lopsided grin slowly spreading onto his lips. Miles’ hands instinctively rest on the wall, right beside Myles’ head. “I said yes.”
“I know, I know…” Miles murmurs. “I’ve just… been thinking about this for a while. Kissing you. I wanna do it right.”
Miles has always been intentional with the way he touches Myles, having taken note of his initial aversion to touch when they first met. Now, he’s getting explicit permission to do so, and Miles’ brimming excitement has sated into a gentle calm, slowly pressing forward with each passing second.
“It’s just a kiss.” Myles keeps his voice even and cool, like his nerves aren’t being lit aflame from being gazed at with such wanting. “Get it to it, man.”
“Yeah.” Miles breathes out earnestly, filled with a newfound confidence.
Still, it’s Myles who pulls his counterpart into him and presses their lips together. It’s evident he doesn’t know what to do, the clumsy way he moves his lips against Miles’, tries to mimic what he’s seen in movies and the couples who flaunt their love in public. It’s rushed, heavy, like Myles is trying to prove something, and it’s over before he could get the hang of it.
“Hold on,” Miles keeps one palm flat on the wall beside Myles’ head, and uses the other to cup his cheek. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me.”
“I’m relaxed.” Myles grits out, with all the tension of a loaded bullet.
Miles struggles to contain his grin. “Sure.” He leans in a second time, and presses one, two, three sweet kisses against Myles’ lips, and he finds that he’s chasing for another one. Miles captures his lips fully, slotting their lips together sticky and slow, the gentle smack of it makes Myles’ cheeks burn.
Or, maybe it’s his entire body being lit aflame? He’s too high to tell. All he knows is he’s burning hot, hot, hot . Miles’ mouth on his spreads warmth into his chest that feels like a shot of whiskey, smokey and overwhelming and grounding, like he’s not allowing Myles to drift away into his consciousness. He keeps right here, right down to Earth, right to Miles, and his grip on his shirt only tightens.
“Miles–” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He doesn’t even understand why he called out his name. It’s as if he’s trying to savor the taste of him along with the roll of his name on his own lips, but Miles takes this opportunity to slide his tongue in his mouth.
The gentleness from before has bloomed into something hungry, and everything seemed to give way beneath him. He’s floating in a sea of Miles’ attention, barely staying afloat, writhing to keep up with the intensity of it. When Miles shifts, his knees are in between his legs and–
A shaky noise leaves him, trembling into the kiss. He doesn’t realize it at first, not after some assessing, but the lightheadedness in his head and the warmth between his legs is—good. Too good to ignore, too hot, too wet, too much .
He’s hard. Myles can feel it between his legs, begging for attention, and that realization alone causes him to grip Miles’ shoulder and push him away, looking away from him and taking in these big, steadying breaths.
This is humiliating.
He’s completely fallen apart from being kissed by—himself. His head’s in a daze and his muscles are slack, hot all over and undeniably overwhelmed. Does kissing always feel like this?
“Fuck.” Myles puffs, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “We should… stop.”
Miles raises a brow, evidently unsatisfied. He licks his lips as he looks down at him, proudly savoring the taste of him. “Should?”
“That’s what I said.”
Miles shakes his head, brows furrowing. “I mean… It doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.”
They’re locked in another bout of intimate eye contact. Myles could feel himself getting picked apart under his heady gaze.
“We’re getting carried away.” Is Myles’ weak answer. Far too flimsy coming from someone like him, who’s solid and intentional with his words. At this moment, it seems like he’s scrambling to find the words. “You’re fuckin’ excited. And high.”
“So? It’s you.” Miles shrugs. Myles feels his heart shift and make space for him, welcoming him in. “Just… kissing. I wanna kiss you again.” He’s so honest, his hunger for Myles shines through, even in his attempts to contain himself. “If … you liked it. Then—c’mon, please, Myles?”
For the sake of his dignity, slowly being chipped away with each second that passes, he pretends to consider it.
“Yeah–”
And Miles closes the distance again. Hungrier, both hands cupping Myles’ cheeks and bringing him in closer. He tries to bring them in closer, but the position is awkward, and he lets out a firm grunt into his mouth. Frustrated, he hooks his hands under the bottom of Myles’ thighs and effortlessly pulls him into his lap.
Fuck .
He’s so, so fucked.
Myles’ arms wrap around his neck and pulls him in tandem with Miles pulling him in by the waist. He wonders if he could feel him now, he feels his dick pressing against Miles’ stomach, the friction feels overwhelming when his whole body is sluggish, sensitive, all lit aflame from affection.
He doesn’t know if he’s gotten the hang of it, not really. He’s hanging onto Miles’ mouth like it’s dripping honey, equal parts desperate and intoxicated. He tastes like the mead they’d stolen from his uncle’s liquor cabinet just hours before. His first kiss tastes like ripe peach and sugar, melting in his mouth.
“I feel you,” Miles presses his lips to the corner of his mouth, slow and wet. He’s breathing heavy, matching the intensity of Myles’ labored breathing, and he mouths slowly all the way down his jawline. “Right here,” Miles’ grip on his hips forces more friction between his legs, Myles lets out a chokes noise into the smoky haze of his room. “Yeah, God—You’re so…”
Myles tilts his head up to give him full access to his neck, and if they continued this any longer, his body, too. “Shut up,” There’s no heat to his demand, if you could even call it that, it’s too flimsy to be taken seriously. “Told your ass… we got fuckin’ carried away.”
“You got excited, too.” Miles mouths against his neck, pressing his tongue flat against the skin. He can’t suppress his shiver, he’s too inebriated to even bother. “I barely kissed you.”
“F-Fuck off, man.” Myles protests, “You know I ain’t never–”
“I know..” His teeth sink into his neck enough to hurt, deep enough to leave a mark, he knows it. The pained gasp that leaves him is blissfully ignored as he leaves more marks in his neck, making a mess of his skin and a symphony out of his voice. “S’fine… you’re doing–you’re perfect, God.”
He can’t seem to calm down no matter how many times he attempts to will himself to do so. Something’s building, and quick. He feels to good to identify what it is at the moment, but Miles is egging him on, grinding his hips down into him.
“Miles–”
“Yeah,” He relents his attack on his neck and presses his lips against his agains, his fingers dragging up his shirt and digging the pads of his fingers into the bare skin of his waist. “I’m right here. S’okay, I got you.”
He didn’t realize he’d been parched for another taste for his lips until they were against his once again, his thirst subsequently quenched all while greedily yearning for more, as if he isn’t overflowing with—this. It’s too much.
“H-hold on, I’m–” His words aren’t coming out right, not in the way he wants to. They’re unstable, broken, all of the things he convinced himself he wasn’t and Miles is steadily unraveling him. They’ve only been kissing, for Christ’s sake, his hands have barely explored anywhere other than his hips and waist, and yet…
“I know.” In the heat of it all, Miles sounds… so sweet. Gently leading him to his peak, “Told you I’ve got you… lemme…”
It’s not too long after that. He doesn’t realize his hips have been hopelessly grinding against Miles for quite some time now, and by the time he recognizes the feeling, it’s too late; He’s going to cum.
It bubbles out of him painfully slowly, starting at the very tips of his toes and past his stomach. He doesn’t get any words out, not that he can, anyway, Miles is licking into his mouth and swallowing his moans as he shudders against him, each wave of pleasure sending a spurt out of his cock and into his boxers, undeniably staining his sweatpants.
He can’t hear himself, his ears ring as the blood rushes into his head and leaves him dizzy, but he can imagine the pathetic noises he’s making, eyes squeezed shut.
When he’s finally able to collect himself through the fog, Miles has pulled away and is looking at the space between their legs—or, lack thereof. He finally looks up at him, hands resting at his waist again, a slow grin spreading across his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but Myles places his entire palm over his face, humiliation bubbling through him.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”
Miles laughs, gently wrapping a hand around his wrist and moving it away from his face. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Smug ass look on your fuckin’ face is enough.” It’s hard enough that he’s spent their entire friendship with Miles praising him like he’s this ultra-cool, put-together, mature version of himself—and that image of him was, clearly, shattered.
He came apart completely when they were making out. No one’s bothered to touch him before. Or, he’s never let anyone close enough to try. He’s sated. His body has been craving for it without Myles taking notice, and it’s left him with cum splattered all over his goddamn boxers.
“You… smoked a lot more than me.” Miles says, thoughtfully. “I’m gonna be thinking about this all wee–”
“I’m not—We’re not discussing this. Shut the hell up.” He replies as he climbs off of Miles’ lap, uncomfortable in his clothes. He needs to shower, or change, maybe both.
“Hey! They’re nothing to be embarrassed about, man. My first girlfriend put her hand on my thigh once while we were making out, and I got so excited I—”
“I deadass don’t care.” Myles huffs, and Miles laughs quietly to himself, amused.
There’s a stain between his pants now. The light gray of his sweatpants bleed right where he came, an uncomfortable amount between his legs. When he finds Miles staring, he grabs one of his pillows and throws it at him. Not that it matters, it’s caught before it could make contact with his stupid, puppy-eyed face that’s spread out into a pleased grin.
There’s a knock at his bedroom door that snaps both of them out of their trance.
“Yo, Myles. You in there?”
It’s his Uncle Aaron, naturally, who tends to wake him at the deepest hours of the night to tend to the plague that is New York City. Miles wordlessly throws the pillow back at Myles, who quickly puts the pillow right over his lap, covering his stain.
“Yeah,” Myles’ voice cracks, and Miles clamps a hand over his mouth to deter his laughter. He flips him the bird. “Yeah,” He tries again, deeper, steady. “Yeah, you can come in. Other Miles is here.”
The door is tentatively pushed open, and he peers at the both of them with a raised brow. They’re sitting at opposite ends of the bled, the room is… hot, stinks of weed and sweat, and both boys are still catching their breath. He looks between the both of them, then at his nephew.
“We gotta go.” Aaron says, although it looks like he has more to say, but the knowing glance he gives Myles lets him know that he’s going to save it for later. “Get ready.”
It’s all he leaves them with and shuts the door behind him, making his way to the living room.
“He knows.” Miles says, mortified.
“No shit, he knows. You don’t have to hear his fuckin’ mouth later!”
“True.” Miles’ shoulders slump as Myles stands up, walking to one of his drawers. “Should I go?”
“It’s late, Miles. Yeah, go home.”
He’s rummaging through his clothes, hardly able to focus. He’s embarrassed, that much is true, but all of those feelings that have been budding for the past five months have finally sprouted. He isn’t sure what to do with that, with this gentle flower he now has to cradle in his hands. He can hear footsteps behind him, stops just a shy away from him, and there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“If I… went too far or– I dunno. If I messed up, let me know. I was just excited, and…” Miles seems to lose his words when his counterpart turns to face him. He reaches a hand up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “Uh… I’m sorry.”
“Miles,” He huffs, grabbing a fistful of his shirt once again, pulling him in close. It’s… a sweet, quick kiss, short enough to get his point across. “We’ll talk about this… later.”
“Really?” There it is again, that puppy-like eagerness that Myles has undoubtedly fallen for. His watch has already opened up a portal, a few of his belongings beginning to float in its presence.
“Yeah.” He replies. “I’m not talking about this with cum in my boxers.”
“I mean… yeah, yeah. You’re right.”
When Miles leaves and all of his miscellaneous items float back down to its original place, Myles is left alone with his thoughts, and a cooling pool of cum in his boxers. He puts his face in his hands, dragging them down until they rest just beneath his eyes. All he can feel now is the soreness on his neck and the heavy beating of his heart. This is going to leave a mark for days.
“My mom’s gonna fucking—God… damnit.”
/
A few hops away, in another universe, Miles stares at the ceiling and yearns for next visit to come sooner rather than later.