growing pains

“What,” Miguel pinched the skin between his furrowed brows, exhaling a long, tired sigh, “exactly am I looking at here?”

The boy in question shuffled his feet, looking at everything but the imposing, obviously irritated man in front of him. His suit was much too big now, hanging loosely off his body, giving the impression of a wrongly sized costume.

Lyla appeared on the boy’s shoulder, and he watched with wide, curious eyes as she blipped in and out of existence around his small frame. Each time he tried to reach out and touch her, she teleported just out of his grasp, like it was a game. Suddenly, screens surrounded him, and he squinted and covered his eyes at the bright colors as multiple analyses began.

“Looks like… Miles Morales of Universe-1610. Vital signs are normal. Algorithm shows no threat of any multiverse collapses. So far, so good. The only difference being…” A tiny set of pixelated drums appeared over her head, and they played a drumroll in time with the swing of her hands. “Dundundun… He’s 13! Physically and mentally, might I add.”

Miguel felt his blood pressure skyrocket.

“I know it looks bad,” Gwen started, and she stepped in front of Miles to shield him from Miguel's inevitable anger. Miguel wasn’t looking at her, instead staring at the boy unsubtly craning his head around her to meet Miguel’s gaze. “But he looks… fine? The ray was going to hit someone, and he just…”

Typical. Always putting himself in danger, and of course Miguel had to be the one to fix it. “Lyla. How long is this expected to last?”

Lyla hummed, tilting her head towards Miguel. “If we’re lucky, only a day, but looks like it could last up to a week, given the dimension’s technology.”

Great. Miguel merely crossed his arms and shook his head. Gwen was unphased, but Miles’ shoulders sank at the visible disappointment.

“We can’t send him home like this.” Miguel halfheartedly gestured at Miles, who looked like he wanted to disappear into his baggy suit. He tugged down his mask, which made the eyes fall down to his neck. Instead of a laugh, there was an amused sharp huff through Miguel’s nose.

“He can’t just stay here, either!” Gwen turned to Miles and bent down, offering a hand. “I can take him–”

Before Miles could even think about reaching for it, Miguel interrupted, voice firm and final.

“He can, and he will.” Miguel stepped past Gwen and to the boy. Frankly, Miles looked utterly terrified, and he took a nervous step back. Gwen gave Miguel a cold look, and the older man stopped in his tracks. Right. Thirteen years old. He needed to approach this differently. “...Miles.”

The boy flinched and stood up straighter. He reached behind his head and pried the mask off with a grunt. It wasn’t the Miles he recognized. Gangly, still maturing, yet oozing with strength and confidence. This Miles was small, scared, a mere boy with soft eyes and softer skin, freckles dusting his cheeks and lips wet from anxious biting. The boy’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, unsure of what to say.

Miguel’s gaze softened at the sight of a child, alone and confused in a universe that wasn’t his own. That just wouldn’t do. He reached out and took one of Miles’ shaking hands, caressed it, engulfed it with a gentle fist. Miles’ fingers stopped trembling, and his hand warmed up in Miguel’s palm.

“You’re coming with me.”

The good thing about being in charge was that no one questioned you. The bad thing was, well, everything else. No one bat an eye that Miguel dismissed himself with a prepubescent Miles in tow, though Gwen attempted to insist that she was perfectly capable of handling things herself. He hid away in his second home, a small condo tucked away in the corner of his lab, to try to remain semi-productive. Miles, thankfully, was able to find his own entertainment around the place, eventually settling with a notepad and a pen.

“So, like…” Miles kicked his feet up and down, leaning back in an office chair that was made for a man three times his size. He changed clothes, too, though all Miguel had around was faded, frayed clothes. Miles elected to only wear an old college hoodie despite Miguel offering a pair of sweatpants, and Miguel pointedly had to look away from Miles’ thin, doe-like legs. The day pass had to be tied around his wrist twice to fit. “Who are you?”

Miles had been quiet up to this point. The Miles he knew was incapable of silence, always talking back or making stupid jokes. Even after… everything, Miles chatted him up as if they were old friends. Miguel didn’t hate it, really; it was just… different. Different from the stiff, formal conversation with the rest of the Spider-People. Then again, Miles was different from the beginning. That was how they got here in the first place.

“My name is Miguel O’hara.” Miles was clearly not satisfied with such a short answer, and Miguel knew that if he took much longer to continue, there would be more questions, more distrust. “I’m your… uncle.”

Miles looked up from the paper he was doodling on and raised an eyebrow, looking even more confused.

“On your mother’s side.”

That made Miles visibly relax, though he had an eager glint in his eye that Miguel knew was a sign that they weren’t done here. Gabriella was similarly inquisitive, and it was nostalgic to see it in a boy he was so familiar with.

“Okay…” Miles set the notepad aside and crossed his arms, puffing up his chest. “Prove it.”

Jesus Christ.

“What do you want me to say?” Miguel ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I’m busy.”

Miles ignored the second statement entirely. “If you’re my uncle… then when was I born?”

“August 3rd, 2008.” Easy.

“What’s my favorite food?”

“Pasteles.” A no-brainer.

“What’s my dog’s name?”

“You don’t have a dog.” Miguel was quickly realizing that it was a little creepy that none of this was difficult to recall. Any other man who had all of this information certainly belonged in a cell.

Miguel didn’t have spider senses, but he could hear Miles hopping out of his seat with a soft huff, and his tiny steps approaching him across the room. The older man waved over the screens, and they all disappeared. No point in trying to work now.

“How come I’ve never met you before?”

“That…” He should tell him the truth. It would be easier to explain, but here Miles was, unmarred by the burden of being a hero, not yet scarred by the loss of those he loved, unknowing of how Miguel treated him upon their first meeting. Miguel turned around in his chair, letting his suit materialize over his clothes, though he left his mask off. “I’m Spider-Man.”

The unimpressed stare and deep frown of a kid was brutal beyond words. Miguel didn’t know if he would ever recover.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not five. You can come up with something better than that.” Miles moved closer, poking Miguel’s taut abs through his suit. “I mean, this is cool, but you don’t look like Spider-Man. You’re way bigger, and your suit is different.”

“There’s more than one Spider-Man.”

Miles snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. You can just say you’re a huge nerd.”

That infuriating snark was always present in Miles, then. Good to know.

Miguel’s pride was stronger than to be torn down by a child’s mockery, but this was Miles they were talking about. He hadn’t allowed disrespect then, and he wasn’t going to allow it now, even if he was younger.

Miguel’s hands wrapped around Miles’ waist (and he tried very hard not to think about how it was even thinner, now). With ease, he tossed the boy high into the air and pointed his arm upwards at him, pinning him to the ceiling with glowing red webs.

“Hey!” Miles immediately started struggling, to no avail. “Let me down!”

“Not happening.” The screens returned, though Miguel wasn’t paying any attention to them, aimlessly moving them around. The faux ignoring worked well to get under Miles’ skin, who kept shouting and twisting around.

“Come on, man.” Miles kicked his legs hard enough that his shoes fell off, landing with a dull thud onto the carpet. You can’t keep me up here!”

“Hmm.” Miguel stroked his chin, pretending to think. He spun his chair around to look up at the boy. He had a clear view of Miles’ lower half, t-shirt framing his legs and thighs like a skirt. Miguel almost wished he had forgotten to offer the boy a pair of boxers, even as loose as they were. “I could let you down.”

Miles perked up, smile wide and eyes much too trusting. His happiness was near blinding. Infectious.

“If you ask nicely.”

Miles pursed his lips into a pout, though he quickly forced it away to look more mature. It was too late, though, Miguel had already taken a mental snapshot and stowed it away with the rest of the strange feelings brewing because of this younger Miles. “No way.”

“Then I guess you better get used to being up there.” Miguel shrugged and turned back around, feeling Miles glaring daggers at the back of his head.

“Wait!” His pleas were hurried and desperate. “Wait, wait, wait!”

Miguel looked over his shoulder, expectant. “I’m listening.”

“Please, tío?” Miles squirmed, putting on the most pitiful look that squeezed Miguel’s heart. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s better. Still no, though.”

“Huh? Why?! I said sorry!”

“You already have the means of getting down by yourself.” The situation lent itself the perfect opportunity to get that can of worms out of the way.

Miguel watched Miles’ expression twist in confusion. It only took a few moments for Miles to get the hint, mouth parted into a perfect ‘o’ and eyes practically twinkling. “No way. No way! Being Spider-Man is genetic?!”

Miguel nodded, his thoughts drifting to Peter and Mayday. The thought of having a child like himself (or like Miles) was… sweet. He gave up the dreams of having a family up a long time ago, though.

“Okay, uh. Then what do I do? What powers do I have?”

“That’s not something I can tell you.” It wasn’t as if Miguel didn’t know, but simple explanations were never enough in their line of work. It was always about experience, even if that meant embarrassing yourself in the process.

“Seriously?” Miles rolled his eyes. “You’re the worst teacher ever.”

“I’m not your teacher.” Though, he was finding himself a little jealous of Peter, having this Miles to train, even for a short period of time. He wondered what it would be like if he was able to mentor Miles, being there for his firsts, watching him grow, having Miles rely on him. It would go against everything he’s lived for, but, perhaps, things would have been different if Miguel had Miles by his side.

Miles kept squirming, twisting against the web, trying to find some weakness in its threads. He groaned, frustrated, clenching his fists at his sides. “Come on! I… I can’t do this! Just let me go already!”

“You can.” Miguel stood up, hands on his hips. “I know you can. I won’t be around to save you if you actually do get in trouble.”

“What do you know? You haven’t even been around, anyway!”

“I–” Miles wasn’t wrong. Miguel had been watching him for as long as he was able to, saw him lose and grieve and cry, but… he’s also seen Miles thrive. He knew more than anyone what Miles was capable of. He held his arms out, palms open and wanting. “I’m here now. I’ll catch you. I promise.”

Miles closed his eyes, felt heat buzz at the ends of his fingertips. They itched, tingled, buzzed, and Miles uncurled them, allowing them to breathe. He followed his instincts, stretched them out fully, letting them press against the webs, and within a second, he heard a sharp bzzt, and they were gone, and he was falling, and–

It was warm. Solid. Strong. His eyes blinked open to find himself in Miguel’s arms, face tucked into his shoulder. Miguel’s body completely enveloped his, and Miles leaned into his touch, legs and arms doing their best to curl around his broad body, though with Miguel’s sheer size, his hands nor feet met around Miguel’s shoulders or hips.

Miguel’s laugh created a swarm of butterflies in Miles’ stomach. “See? I knew you could do it. I told you so.” He was still smug, but there was something gentle about it.

Miles nuzzled his nose into Miguel’s neck. He smelled good, like dark coffee and fresh sheets. “And you caught me.”

“I promised I would.”

Miles was practically glued to Miguel’s side, not that the older man would have it any other way. He trusted the other Spider-People, otherwise they wouldn’t be in the society to begin with, but Miles was so curious (and innocent, though Miles would furiously deny it) that Miguel’s protective instincts needed Miles to be in his sight at all times.

Miles kept up with his powers, though he insisted that Miguel had to watch him, or they didn’t work. Miguel didn’t think that was true, though he indulged the boy, praising him when he pulled something off and offering pointers about the abilities he was less certain of. It was more physical than he expected, adjusting Miles’ form when he was practicing against training dummies, prying him off the walls when he got stuck, or ruffling his hair when he did a good job. Miles accepted it all, and even initiated some of it himself, with his hugs and roughhousing.

Gwen and Peter would stop by to check on how he was doing, and he would say his hello’s before getting bored and wanting his “uncle’s” attention again.

“Who knew that all he needed to do to win Miguel over was to lose a couple inches, huh?” Peter joked, playfully elbowing Gwen’s side.

“Yeah.” Gwen said, distant. “Who knew.”

“You know,” said Lyla, circling around Miguel with a stern look. Miguel didn’t pay her any mind, eyes on Miles as the boy waited in line at the cafeteria, “he’s gonna turn back eventually, right?”

“Mm.”

“Don’t you ‘mm’ me! You’re not making this easier. If you keep at it, he might not come back right. You’ll mess up his mind if you don’t stop enabling… whatever this is.”

Miguel didn’t respond. It wouldn’t have been anything Lyla wanted to hear, anyway.

“Miguel?”

“Hrm.” Miguel mumbled eloquently. It had to be late, it was rare for Miguel to get any sleep earlier than midnight. His back cracked as he sat up; the small, stiff couch doing his joints little favor. He rubbed his eyes, and when his vision finally focused, he saw Miles, clutching onto the end of Miguel’s t-shirt, trembling. “...What is it?”

Miles swallowed, obviously trying to hold back his tears, but his voice wavered regardless. “I had a nightmare. It was about my uncle– um.” His voice cracked, and he sniffled. “My other uncle.”

Oh. His memories returning must have meant that this was close to wearing off.

“Go back to bed.”

Miles glanced away and bit his lip, ready to flee like a poor, wounded animal, and Miguel’s heart could hardly stand it.

“I’ll be right there.”

Miguel was thankful for his enhanced vision, unable to look away from Miles’ soft, vulnerable smile until the boy disappeared into the shadows of his bedroom.

When Miguel stepped into the room, he found Miles on the left side of the bed, an absurd amount of pillows under his head. Miguel chuckled as he approached, the mattress dipping with his weight on the other side. “Don’t you think you have enough of those?”

“Oh,” Miles gasped, as if the thought never occurred to him. Hurriedly, he started gathering pillows into his arms. “My bad. Sorry.”

“No, no.” Miguel shook his head. “Keep them. I only need one.”

Miguel moved to lay on his back, eyes to the ceiling. He felt Miles toss and turn, unable to keep still. Neither of them were going to get any sleep at this rate.

“Do… you want to talk about it?”

Miles immediately stopped moving, as if caught red handed, before turning his back towards Miguel.

“Um.” He curled in on himself. It was no surprise for Spider-People to suffer at such a young age, but seeing Miles so small and fragile, crushed by the weight of a mere dream, regardless of how grounded in reality, was enough for a twisted, selfish wish to form. Miles locked away. Safe and sound. Miguel his keeper, his protector. “Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“...Okay.”

Despite this, it took a few minutes for Miles to say anything, the only sound between them being their own breathing and the shifting of sheets.

“I guess… I don’t know. It’s stupid. I saw my uncle, uh, get hurt, and I’ve had scary dreams before, but this one felt… real? Really real.”

“Mhm.”

“And I know he’s fine and stuff, but it got me thinking, like, what if something really did happen to him?”

“Mm.”

“Or– or if something else happened to my family. I just– I don’t know. I feel really guilty, and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m keeping something from them, but I don’t… think I am, and… the last thing I want them is to be worried or disappointed, and–”

“Miles.”

“Yeah?”

Miguel’s chest firmly pressed against Miles’ back, and the boy instantly relaxed into it. The shape of them felt right, puzzle pieces fitted together.

“Your family is always going to worry. You know that. Your dad still insists on driving you to school in his police car.” Not that he blamed him, Miguel would do the same. There were bad people out there (though, perhaps he was one of them, for the things Miles made him feel were nothing short of depraved).

“Ugh, don’t remind me! It’s so embarrassing.” That at least got Miles to laugh, the sound light and airy.

“...As a father,” He pulled Miles closer, a hand settling on the boy’s stomach, idly tapping the skin there, “we only want what’s best for you. You could be whatever you wanted, within reason, and we’d still love you.”

“Huh.” Miles placed a hand over Miguel’s. “I didn’t know you were a dad.”

“I had a daughter.”

“Oh.” The past tense was not lost on Miles, but he didn’t pry. He straightened out his thin legs, fitting them between Miguel’s, a colt against a stallion. “...Would she have liked me?”

“Liked you?” Miguel pressed his nose to Miles’ hair. “She would have loved you.”

By the third day, Miguel had enough faith to leave Miles by himself. Briefly, enough to get a villain in another universe sorted out. The boy wouldn’t be completely alone, having Lyla as a guardian and playmate. AI, at their core, didn’t have “feelings”, but Lyla was more than superficially invested in having Miles around. It was the same way with Gabriella. If Miles asked for the world, Miguel was certain that Lyla would have it in Miles’ hands in seconds. That was the difference between them. A computer did what they were told, and humans would do the that and more. If Miles wanted the world, Miguel would give him hundreds.

The target in question wasn’t a challenge, captured and sent back home like usual, but that didn’t mean they went down without a fight. The evidence was left on Miguel in the form of dried blood and bruises, nothing he wasn’t used to.

What he wasn’t used to was having someone waiting for him back home. When Miguel opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Miles and Lyla sitting (hovering, in Lyla’s case) on the couch, watching some sort of horror film. Lyla was unbothered. Miles, on the other hand, had an entire blanket wrapped around him to shield him from the horrors on screen. Miguel wasn’t sure if he could even see.

“Sshh!” Lyla hushed, chewing on a handful of digital popcorn. “This is the best part.”

A scream rang out from the speakers, and the flat screen was filled with blood and guts. Miles flinched, shifted under the blanket, which Miguel assumed to be him looking away.

“Turn that off.”

Lyla rolled her eyes. The screen faded to black, and the living room scenery returned with the lights back on. Miles pulled the blanket off, overly eager to see Miguel. The bright smile on his face didn’t last long, much to Miguel’s disappointment. The boy pushed himself off the couch and ran to Miguel, stopping at his feet.

“What happened?” Miles sounded worried. “Did someone beat you up?”

“What? No.” Miguel wiped under his nose, spotting blood on his gloves when he looked down. “Well. I beat them up worse.”

Miles frowned. He grabbed Miguel’s wrist, tugged on it, and Miguel simply followed to where the boy led him. To the couch it was. Another tug, and Miguel was sitting on it.

“Lyla?” Miles called, and she appeared on top of his curls, lying back on them as if they were a field of flowers. “Are there any bandages in here?”

“Bandages? Sure. Bathroom. Back left cabinet.”

Miles followed her directions, despite Miguel’s protests. He really was incapable of listening.

Lyla floated in front of Miguel’s face, arms crossed. She lowered her voice.

“Did you do something?”

“What?”

“I said,” she tapped her foot impatiently, “did you do something?”

“I–” Miguel shrugged. “No?”

“Hmm.” She spun around on her heels, languidly adjusting her fur coat.

He squinted. “What?”

“Nothing.” It definitely was not nothing. “He just talked about you a lot, is all. And I mean a lot.”

Miguel did not like what she was implying, but what was worse was the warm feeling in his chest knowing that Miles’ mind was full of Miguel, even when he was gone. The silent accusation stung, but Lyla knew him best. She was programmed to. He had enough pride not to ask what Miles had said, at least. He had the cameras to find that out.

“If you did,” she turned back around, hands behind her head, “you ought to do a better job of hiding it, bossman. Someone waaaay less chill than me would take it with less grace, you know?”

There wasn’t anything more to say, and thank God for that, since Miles stepped back into the living round, a first aid kit in hand. Lyla took his appearance as a sign to leave, and with only the two of them left, the guilt started to seep into his bones.

“Mami– uh. My mom’s a nurse.” Miguel knew that, but he didn’t interrupt. “She taught me how to use this stuff, in case I get hurt.”

“Spider-Man has accelerated healing.”

“Yeah, well, Spider-Man also looks like shit right now, so just let me do this.” Brat.

Regardless, Miguel chuckled and piped down. Miles went to work, cleaning his wounds and applying bandages where needed. Miles’ hands were soft against his rough face, gentle touches rubbing away blood and sweat and grime. It felt wrong to dirty him this way, especially when it wasn’t necessary, but Miguel was finding himself to be more selfish of late. When Miles was finally done, he opened his eyes, and Miles was much closer than he expected, practically straddling his lap.

Miles blushed at the intensity of his stare, though he didn’t move. Instead, he did something worse and pressed one of his tiny fingers against Miguel’s chapped lips. They parted for him.

“You do have fangs.” Miles gasped, elated. “That’s so cool.”

It was a nightmare, really. Another reminder of his inhumanity, but if Miles said so, then, yes, actually, it was cool. Miguel playfully snarled, fully showing off the top set of canines.

“If you aren’t careful, you might get yourself bitten.” A venom-less threat.

Miles giggled and pinched Miguel’s cheek. “Yeah, right.”

He thought he had more sense than to hold Miles down, yank his shirt (Miguel’s shirt) aside to reveal his naked shoulder, and press the very tip of his fangs into his skin. Clearly not. It was as if he was acting on primal instinct. Predator and prey. Hungry. Fresh kill on a silver platter. Hungry. Young and supple and beautiful. Hungry.

Lyla was right. Subtly wasn’t his strong suit.

Miles didn’t even move under him, and when Miguel finally pulled away, there wasn’t the smell or sight of fear anywhere on the boy. Half-lidded eyes, darkened cheeks, pursed lips. Arousal, longing, breathtaking. It drove Miguel mad.

It couldn’t be here, not now. Miguel needed a way out, but Miles’ expectant expression was pulling him in. He leaned down, and when his lips met Miles’ skin once again… he blew a loud, wet raspberry right under his ear.

Miles squirmed, pushed against Miguel’s face and screeched.

They finished the movie. Well, Miguel finished the movie. Miles fell asleep tucked under Miguel’s arm, and when the credits rolled, Miguel carried Miles to bed.

Day five started as the rest of the days did, or it should have. Miles would be up first, pulling at his arm to get breakfast ready, and then Miles would tell him about yet another “super cool trick” he learned. While Miguel cooked, Miles would draw, and it was incredible how the kid was so talented at such a young age. They’d eat together, and Miles would have a mess on his face by the end of it, and Miguel would scold him as he wiped his mouth. Miguel would check in on the society while Miles sat in his lap, half watching Miguel at work, half playing a game on Miguel’s phone.

A domestic routine. The way he preferred; the way he was getting too used to.

But today, nothing. It was deathly quiet, and there was no Miles sleeping in between his arms, either.

“Miles?” He called, sitting up in bed. No response. Odd, but maybe the boy got up early to draw, though Miguel would have felt if Miles had even shifted in his hold. He reached over to his nightstand to put on his watch, and–

It was gone.

Miguel shot out of bed, suit on in seconds. “Lyla, get me a new watch, now.”

“Sure thing. Where you headed, boss?”

“1610.”

Miles wasn’t stupid. Miguel’s story didn’t add up. Alternate universes and a secret society of Spider-People? Sure. Being his uncle? No way. He knew all his family, they always showed up to reunions and parties, or they couldn’t, Rio would fill in the gaps of their family tree, so he would know Miguel, especially if he was supposed to be so close to his mom.

It just wasn’t right, and… he had a feeling that something was wrong, like he wasn’t supposed to be there to begin with. Miles longed for the familiar, and he just wanted to go home. His parents would be worried sick, especially with how long he was gone.

It was dark out, and even though Miles was totally old enough to take care of himself, he still got nervous walking home alone this late. He hurried his steps, following the flickering streetlights.

Before he could turn down the street to his home, a large hand gripped his wrist like a vice and pulled him into an alleyway. He kicked and parted his lips to scream, but a sweaty palm covered the lower half of his face. He leaned forward to bite hard on the stranger’s skin, and he recognized that low, annoyed string of Spanish swears.

“Mmihnm?” Miles attempted to say his name against his hand. He was let go, only for a moment, pinned to the brick wall before he could take a clear breath.

He’d never seen Miguel look so angry, eyes dark and red, fangs peeking under his lips, claws digging into his skin. It made Miles instinctively whimper, his body reacting in turn by flickering in and out of visibility.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m…” Miles gathered his courage, pushing against Miguel’s shoulders, his eyes rebelling. “I’m going home. I know you aren’t my uncle. You don’t have to keep lying to me.”

“You can’t go home.”

“Why not? You can’t– you can’t keep me away from my family!” There were too many similarities to their first confrontation. He needed to fix this, before Miles fought back and ran away, before he let the one light in his life go again.

“Miles. You aren’t–” Miguel cursed to himself, and Miles made a face at his language. “You aren’t yourself right now. You’ll go back to them eventually, but you have to trust me.”

“Why should I?” Miles felt stupid and weak. He didn’t even try to pull away from Miguel’s grip anymore. “You lied to me.”

“I know. I know.” Miguel let go of Miles’ wrist, and when Miles didn’t make an attempt to run, he pulled him close, his touch gentle and loving. “I wanted to keep you safe. I’m sorry.”

“You… you have to make it up to me.”

“Yeah?” Miguel chuckled. What would it take for his forgiveness– New pens? New shoes? A day trip to another dimension? “How do I do that?”

Miles pulled away, and Miguel allowed him to. He looked hesitant, unsure, and Miguel wanted nothing more than to soothe him, but before he could ask what was wrong, Miles stood on the tip of his toes and kissed whatever he could reach. Miguel’s heart nearly stopped at the warm, plush lips against his collarbone.

Miles wasn’t content with that, huffing in frustration, and he tried to make himself taller with a well-timed jump, but Miguel met him halfway. It was wrong, very wrong, Miguel knew it was, but he had been restraining himself so much already, even from the start. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt. Just this once.

Miles had to catch his breath when they pulled away, even if all they’d done was chastely press their mouths together. It was adorable seeing his inexperience shine, and Miguel had a feeling that fifteen-year-old Miles was no different. He must have been staring too long, because Miles puffed his flushed cheeks in embarrassment and weakly pushed against Miguel’s shoulders.

“Quit…”

“Hm? Quit what?”

“You know what you’re doing.” Miguel really didn’t, but it made his heart surge to think that he had such an effect on the boy. Miguel licked his lips, and Miles watched his tongue with such obvious lust that he had to hold himself back from pouncing on the boy right then and there.

“You’re coming with me.”

Miguel left in such a hurry that it was no surprise that the others had questions. Where had he been? Was everything okay? Did something happen? He brushed them all off and directed them to Lyla to get them off his back, to which the AI flipped him off when he wasn’t looking for making her deal with his own collateral damage. Right now, it didn’t matter what they thought. Miles was holding his hand so tightly, pressed firmly to his side, and Miguel could only control himself for so long.

When they made it to Miguel’s room, Miles was, surprisingly, the first one to make a move. He climbed up Miguel’s body like it was a jungle gym until their noses touched and chased for Miguel’s lips, tonguing and biting until Miguel finally caved in and licked into Miles’ mouth. Their tongues met, wet and heavy, and Miguel could feel Miles slipping from the pleasure. A hand moved to meet the boy’s back, keeping him steady, and Miles moaned at the touch, leaning into it like a needy kitten. Miguel swallowed, then turned his hand, claws unsheathing to pry Miles’ clothes off like wrapping paper. Fabric stood no chance under his sharp talons, and Miles was left in the nude.

“Hey– You’ll have to get me new clothes, tío.”

“I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“Mmn… I just…” Miles bit his lip before leaning forward, mouth at Miguel’s ear, nipping at cartilage. He whimpered. “I want you. Please.”

His cock couldn’t be any harder.

Though he was tempted to take Miles against the wall, he marched to the bedroom and tossed Miles onto the bed, the sheets and comforter a mess in his hurry to leave. Miles lewdly arched his back and wrapped his arms around one of the dark pillows, face buried in it. He inhaled, hard enough for Miguel to hear, and batted his eyelashes. “Smells like you.”

Miles was going to be the death of him, the throbbing in his cock intense enough to warrant a hospital visit. His suit dematerialized, starting from his neck, and Miles’ eyes lowered as skin appeared in its wake. His eyes widened at Miguel’s cock already standing, flat against his abs, long and thick and leaking. Before he could say anything, Miguel was on top of him, caging his whole body in with his strong arms.

Miles’ hands wandered, first tracing the strong outline of Miguel’s face, then snaking down his shoulders and biceps until he interlocked their fingers. Miles squeezed Miguel’s hands, and he squeezed back.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Starin’ at me.”

So that’s all it was?

“Miles,” Miguel lowered, their noses touching. “What else is there to look at?”

Miles covered his face in embarrassment with a pillow, and when Miguel reached to pry it off, the boy threw the pillow at his head. Miguel playfully growled, leaning down to nibble at the boy’s shoulders, and Miles giggled until Miguel’s bites became harder, purposeful. Soft moans easily left Miles’ lips, and he buried his hands into Miguel’s hair to keep him there.

Miguel wondered if the hickeys he left behind would remain when he returned to his proper age. If not, good, it’d make things much easier to cover up afterward. If so… the visual of fifteen-year-old Miles with bruises and bites was one he couldn’t wait to see, even if the boy’s parents would have it out for him.

It begged the question, though, would Miles, his Miles, have wanted this, or, perhaps, was it simply easier to coax a younger boy into his bed? It hadn’t been his goal, though intentions hardly mattered when he was a grown man with a bruised, sweaty teenager underneath him. Even worse, if Miles didn’t want this, would it have even mattered to him? Miguel had tried (and failed) to bend Miles to his whims before, and there was a dark part of him that found their chase exhilarating, even arousing, like it was a strange mating ritual. Even now, if Miles wanted this to end, Miguel didn’t think he would allow it.

“You’re thinkin’ about something else.” Miles was too perceptive for his own good.

Miguel sucked the skin right below Miles’ jaw to shut him up. It nearly worked, but Miles was keen enough to see right through his trick. Ugh.

“Ah– hey, don’t– Stop! I mean it!” Miles roughly tugged on Miguel’s hair, and Miguel reluctantly pulled away with a wet pop. A string of spit connected his mouth with Miles’ neck, and it only broke when his tongue ran over his lips.

“Okay…” Miles looked beautiful like this. Bare, spit-slicked lips pursed, chest rising and falling in time with his heavy breaths. “Spill.”

There was no use hiding it now. “...There’s a chance you won’t remember this.” Miguel paused. “It would be better if you didn’t.”

“You do this thing a lot.” Miguel was ready to retort (“What’s that supposed to mean?” was right on his tongue), but Miles shushed him with a finger against his lips. “You decide how I feel. What I’m supposed to feel. I can figure these things out for myself.”

You’re a child. You’re not supposed to scold me, he thought, but if Miguel was already going as far to bed him, he might as well try to listen.

“Let me decide next time.”

There won’t be a next time, he thought again, and Miles must have been sick of Miguel being in his own thoughts, because there were now small hands curiously feeling at the head of his cock. Miguel groaned at the touch.

“It… it feels different than mine.” Miles’ hands moved down to curl around the base, tickling the skin with his thin fingers.

“That’s because mine is bigger.”

Miles pressed his thighs together, unsure what to think about the statement warming up his entire body.

“Don’t be shy. I like it.” Miguel suddenly forced his legs apart, keeping them separate with a muscular thigh. “It’s not like you’re going to need it.”

“What do you meeEAAN?” Miles’ squeaked as Miguel pulled him up by his waist in time with Miguel’s face lowering. Something warm and wet traced the rim of his hole, slow enough that Miles felt it over every ridge and bump. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he wrapped his twitching legs around Miguel’s head. Then his tongue went in, so viscous and deep, like Miguel wanted the shape of it carved in Miles’ insides. It felt– way too long, but he supposed that everything about Miguel was just. Big. A stray finger joined his tongue, and Miles hadn’t even noticed when Miguel coated his fingers with something that made the push of his finger more like a slide.

“Ah, ah– aahh–” Even just a finger stretched him out, and even though Miles somewhat feared for his sanctity, he… wanted more. “Mmmiguel, Miii–guel!”

His whining paid off, as a second finger joined, and Miguel’s tongue worked even faster, and– Miles couldn’t take it, especially when Miguel rubbed against a part of him that made his entire body lift off the bed. He couldn’t even moan, only a short, choking noise leaving his throat, as he came. Thin, clear rivets of cum spurted onto his stomach, and thankfully, Miguel’s ministrations stopped to give him a moment of rest. He panted as the afterglow washed over him, body light and weak.

Miguel’s tongue and fingers left his hole, though the flat of his tongue lapped at it for one final lick before pulling away. His entire mouth was wet, and Miles had to look away when he saw Miguel start to suck on his fingers. It couldn’t have tasted good, but Miguel ran his tongue over his teeth, and Miles felt like an entire meal.

“Can’t believe you came just from that,” Miguel’s voice was rough, and Miles tried not to linger on why.

“Um. Sorry.” Miles attempted to hide his face with an arm, but Miguel was quicker, pinning it above his head. It made Miles’ stomach spin, how Miguel could hold him down so easily.

“No,” Miguel kissed his sweaty temple, then his cheek. “You’re perfect.”

Miles looked down, eyes fixed on Miguel’s neglected arousal. “Uhm.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you want to…” He wiggled his hips. “You know.”

“Say it.”

“Ugh, come on!” Miles’ legs anxiously rubbed against one another. It felt wrong putting it to words, as if saying it made the taboo much more apparent. But when Miguel talked like that, voice coated in lust, it was hard to say no. “You know! Put it… in me.”

It wasn’t exactly what Miguel was expecting, much more used to vulgarities, but the childish avoidance was about to make him burst. “Do you want me to?”

Miles nodded. That was all Miguel needed for the last wall of patience to crack. Miles was hurriedly pulled into Miguel’s lap, hard enough to give him whiplash, but more pressing was the thick length grinding against his backside. He felt precum drip down his tailbone. It was embarrassing. Miles wasn’t even doing anything, but the hungry look Miguel was giving him wasn’t helping, either. He moaned, pitifully, trying his best to rub back, but Miguel forced his hips still.

“Let me.” Miguel insisted, then sucked at an already deep purple bruise on Miles’ neck. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay…” Miles felt Miguel’s hands underneath him, lifting him up. The tip of his cock ghosted over his hole. His heart pounded against his chest. “Okay.”

The prior fingering wasn’t nearly enough to prepare him for the stretch of Miguel’s cock. It punched the breath out of his lungs, filled him up to the very brim, may as well ended up in his throat with how his words were all but gone.

And it hurt. A lot. Miles briefly looked down, and he saw it through his stomach, a faint outline of skin bulging in the shape of Miguel’s cock.

“Miles,” Miguel groaned, whether out of pain or pleasure was unclear. “You’re squeezing me. Relax.”

Easy for him to say. He didn’t have the equivalent of a baseball bat in his ass. It wasn’t as if Miles wasn’t trying either, but he was nervous– he’s never done… any of this before, and he didn’t want to disappoint Miguel, but it hurt so bad–

“Miles.” Miguel’s fingers went to his face, smooshing his chubby cheeks. “Miles, Miles, it’s alright. I won’t move until you’re ready. Relax.”

Miles had heard Miguel giving orders before, barked them to Lyla and the other Spiders, but never had Miguel sounded so patient with his demands. He could melt right there, feeling gooey and sticky and cherished.

“Oh– ohhkay.”

The kisses peppered to his scalp helped, kept the pain in the background. Miguel kept whispering praise, and even though Miles didn’t think he deserved it, he hung on every word. Before long, the tension finally left, and instead his body coped by turning into a boneless mess, completely at Miguel’s mercy. It was only by Miguel’s hands that he was still sitting up straight, and even still, he was lax and limp, eyes out of focus and mouth hanging open.

“You still there?” Miguel laughed, patting Miles’ cheek. Miles replied with a roll of his hips, and Miguel hissed, digging his nails into Miles’ side.

“Miles,” he warned. “If you do that again, I won’t stop, even if you tell me to.”

Miles didn’t even get to do a full circle before Miguel completed the journey for him. He felt like a doll with the ease of which Miguel moved him up and down his cock. Miguel’s thrusts teetered on the thin line of pleasure and pain. His skin was on fire, the world was spinning, and the only thing that kept him on the physical plane was Miguel. His smell, his touch, his voice– Miles clung to him, his only lifeline, and wept. Fat, wet tears rolled down his cheeks as the white, blinding heat coiled in the pit of his stomach.

Miguel was ruthless, pounding into him so hard the entire bed shook with him. With how buried the bedroom was from the rest of the society, Miles was certain no one could hear them. It should’ve scared him, but he was thankful that his moans were only for Miguel’s ears.

Miguel knew just how to work Miles up, the angle was perfect, just right to rub against his prostate at every sharp thrust–

His second orgasm hit him like a freight train. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his toes curled as the sensation wracked his entire body. He expected a rest period, but, no, Miguel kept going, as if Miles hadn’t just cum so hard that he saw stars. He could only whine, too weak to fight with his arms or legs.

“Ahh, ah, no, nonono– please!” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. Miles’ cocklet bounced uselessly between them, body too overworked to produce any fluid from the tip. “Miguel, please, please.”

“What did I tell you, Miles?” Miguel cooed, breath hot on Miles’ ear. “I won’t stop for you.”

Miguel kept true to his word. Miles was Miguel’s plaything the entire night. He was certain they fucked on every surface in the bedroom. Miles felt the stretch in his legs by round three. By round six, he was practically unconscious. When Miguel finally had his fill, Miles was hardly there, barely responsive to Miguel pulling out and moving his body however necessary to wipe him down. He didn’t remember much of the aftermath; the last thing he recalled was Miguel’s warmth swathing him like a huge, weighted blanket before sleep overtook him.

Miles had grown overnight. Miguel could tell even before he opened his eyes. Miles was not only bigger, but he was sharper. His knees uncomfortably kneaded Miguel’s stomach, and any baby fat had stretched to fit his longer limbs, his stronger muscles. He was skinny, had a figure suited for agility. The gazelle to Miguel’s lion. It was the same body he pinned to the train, the same he hit and clawed and nearly bitten. A nimble little thing that bested him despite Miguel’s raw brutality. It felt good to hold his Miles in a much gentler way. There was no fate of the universe on their shoulders, no bad guys to pursue, nothing but the two of them basking in the early morning sun.

Miles mumbled something in his sleep; he had a habit of doing that, Miguel noticed. Whatever he was thinking about brought a lazy smile to his face, one that Miguel wanted to kiss until Miles was broken from his sleepy spell. He refrained, knowing that once Miles woke up, it would change the course of their relationship forever.

Miguel could wait. They had a lot to talk about. For now, Miguel simply let Miles snore against his chest, and he passed the time by counting every freckle on Miles’ body.

Miles woke up alone.

He expected soreness in his muscles, or a gross, wet feeling between his legs, or even a dehydration headache, but he felt… fine. Normal. Perfectly average. He was even dressed, though he quickly realized they weren’t his own clothes. Too big and too dull-colored, but warm and cozy all the same. An investigative sniff of the collar made it certain that they were Miguel’s. 2099’s laundry detergent had a different smell to it– Miguel said it had something to do with the ingredients. He sat up and looked around, perhaps a bit too eagerly, expecting to at least see a certain someone, even if he would have preferred his caging arms around him.

It was Miguel’s room, just… without Miguel. Miles looked around again as if Miguel, in all his massive glory, would have been easy to miss, like he could hide behind a chair or in a closet. Being here, of all places, should have been a surprise, but he had memories, lots of them in fact, to back up any confusion. Or… he thought he did, but the lack of evidence of last night’s… “events” made him question their authenticity. Vivid dreams weren’t out of the ordinary, but… it seemed a little too convenient to chalk up everything to that.

Plus, a dream wouldn’t be leaving him so conflicted, right? Miles was a teenager, so of course he had wet dreams before, but they were hardly the sort that were difficult to discern from reality. It’s what crushes did, gave you morning wood with only your hands to fix. Miles was used to that, not… whatever this was.

Since when did he feel that way about Miguel, anyway? Sure, he was a little dreamy, in the dark and brooding kind of way, the kind of guys people made TokTik edits of. He could appreciate a man built like a brick shithouse, but they were like oil and water, even after he saved the multiverse. Miguel acted like he didn’t want anything to do with him, and, in turn, Miles made it a daily goal to get on the man’s nerves, not that it was really hard to do.

The memories he had, though… were of a Miguel he’d never seen. Soft, gentle, and loving. They still bickered and bantered, but it wasn’t personal, just… domestic, almost. It wasn’t the hot and heavy sex that brought warmth to Miles’ cheeks. It was their cuddles and kisses and hand-holding. How Miguel looked at Miles like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Fuck. He needed to get this sorted out fast.

He hopped out of bed and left Miguel’s bedroom behind, leaving a Miles-shaped spot between the sheets in the form of a pillow fort.

“Heeeeey, Miles!” Lyla appeared right before his eyes as soon as his shadow peeked into the living room. Her vibrant orange glow startled him, and he blinked and scrunched up his face to shield himself from the glare. She blipped out, reappeared a few inches away, and made herself comfortable in a white, sleek lounge chair, a pixelated martini in hand. She slid her sunglasses down her nose, looking at him over the rims. Yeah, only a computer could be so peppy early in the morning.

“Where’s Miguel?” Usually he’d humor her, but he wasn’t in the mood to mess around. If something happened, he and Miguel needed to talk, now.

She must have expected the question, since she didn’t miss a beat to respond. “You just missed him! He’s out, and before you ask, no idea when he’ll be back in.”

Miles knew that couldn't be true. Lyla knew everything, but if she wasn’t meant to tell him, then she wouldn't, simple as that. Lyla’s mannerisms were almost indistinguishable from a human at times, all play and hardly any work, at least on the front of Spider Society’s operations. Miles was certain that behind the scenes, she did things that were unfathomable in his own dimension. It was good programming, making all the Spider-People feel at ease in her presence. But that’s what she was– a program. No amount of automated, algorithmic sass would change the fact that she was meant to follow Miguel’s orders.

“Okay…” Miles awkwardly tugged on the sleeve of his– Miguel’s shirt, suddenly feeling way too exposed. He wasn’t sure how to feel looking down and seeing unmarred, unblemished skin, even in the spots he swore Miguel had pulled and squeezed in big hands. “Do you know where my stuff is?”

“Sure do. Check your locker. Got your suit all squeaky clean, too. Aren’t I so thoughtful?” She winked, and it did nothing to soothe his nerves.

She watched expectantly for his reaction. Right. A joke. He laughed, forced and unnatural. Thankfully, it did the trick, and Lyla smiled, satisfied. Weird. Did she have some sort of joke quote she needed to fill or something?

“Okay. Thanks.” He could have left things there, but he had to know. There was too much uncertainty for him to leave this room without further interrogation. “Uh. Lyla, do you know what–”

“What happened?” She finished for him, leaning back in her chair and crossing then uncrossing her legs. She took a sip of her martini, though the drink line didn’t change. “You were put into a week-long catatonic state during your last mission. Miguel thought it was best to keep you here while you recovered. You gotta be more careful next time!”

Miles wasn’t convinced, a frown tugging at his lips. “...That’s it?”

“Yes, Miles.” Lyla paused, a blank look on her face. Her eyes were distant, apathetic, as if Miles’ existence was just another task on her to-do list. Lyla took another sip, and it left her glass empty. “That’s all.”

It… couldn’t be. He looked away, trying to recall the past week in full. It was a little blurry, but it was still there. Miguel taking Miles in, showing him the ropes of being Spider-Man, ordering whatever food he wanted, acting as his personal pillow. He remembered Miguel’s warmth, the fond look in his eyes, the way he’d speak to him when no one else was around. How happy and special and loved he felt. All of it was still fresh, and Miles could easily take the scenes to a canvas. He probably would have, if this wasn’t all so weird.

He made that all up? Miles was creative, but he wasn’t… that creative. Becoming a little kid again and having Miguel pretending to be his uncle and then having sex with him sounded so fantastical that it almost had to be true.

He thought to call Lyla out on her bluff, but any words he wanted to say died in his throat. There wasn’t any point to linger, so with a frustrated, choked noise, Miles left, not sparing a glance to Lyla as he made his way out. The faster he was out of these clothes, the better.

Lyla’s eyes lifted up once the room was empty, pointedly staring at a camera in the corner of the ceiling.

“You’ve really done it this time, Miguel.” Lyla muttered to no one but herself, sinking further into pixelated pillows.

“Uh,” Gwen humorlessly chuckled through a mouthful of spider-shaped macaroni and cheese. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Miles didn’t have an appetite, simply poking at the limp fries he haphazardly threw on his tray. He was fortunate to spot Gwen after he rushed to pick up his stuff (all of which was neatly tucked into a small gym bag that, after emptying and donning his spider suit, he used to pocket Miguel’s clothes for very normal reasons). If anyone knew anything, it’d be her.

“I mean what Lyla said wasn’t true, at all.” Gwen set her fork down, elbows on the table. She held up her head with the palms of her hands, fingers tapping against her temple. “You were around, just as a little you. The you I met when we all got sent to your dimension. You can ask Peter and the other Spiders about it if you don’t believe me.”

If that was the case… “Then why would she–”

“You mean why would he, right?” Gwen interrupted, a bite to her words usually reserved for the most obnoxious anomalies and people who didn’t tip. Miles knew that Gwen’s feelings towards Miguel were… neutral at best, but still, she usually could tolerate him enough to have a regular conversation about him. He understood. Miguel could be an asshole. He was to everybody. He probably said something to upset her. It was probably best to steer the topic away from him, then. Easy enough.

“Yeah… I guess so.” Miles took a fry in each hand and started to make them dance on the tray. The twin fries were doing the stanky leg. “What kind of stuff did I do?”

Gwen tilted her head, eyes on the fries. “You don’t remember?”

“No.” The fries were aggressively doing the worm now to distract Gwen from the lie. He never was good at it, always so obvious. Thankfully, the diversion worked, and she just laughed and moved the conversation along.

“I guess that makes sense.” She stroked her chin in thought, pursing her lips. “Maybe when you returned to your actual age, it got rid of the memories of the week since they weren’t there originally…?” She brought a fist to her palm, as if she cracked a code.

“Yeah,” Miles mumbled. At least Gwen was having fun theorizing. He could see her writing this down later, for future reference. Meanwhile he was wondering if he should book an appointment with Spider-Therapist. The waitlist wasn’t getting shorter any time soon.

“Anyway,” she moved on, sensing his lack of enthusiasm. She picked up her fork again and went back to her food, chewing as she spoke. It was gross, but she got a pass since she looked like a hamster while she ate. “If you want to know what you did, I can’t tell you much. You were with Miguel most of the time.”

“Really?” Fuck the stupid fries, he threw them down and leaned in to listen, as if that would make her talk faster. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help it, not when he had a sliver of proof that there really was something going on.

“Yeah, really...” Gwen squinted at his sudden interest. Fuck, he was being too suspicious. He cleared his throat and tried to mimic Hobie’s “too-cool-to-look-like-he-cares'' body language. He leaned back in his seat, but there wasn’t a backing to the chair, so he nearly fell over. He tried to play it off as he sat back up, forced smile and low chuckles, but Gwen’s eyes narrowed even moreso. Fuck. Hobie made it look so damn easy.

“You were always with him, and even when people visited you, you kept being like,” she pitched up her voice and rolled her eyes. “Miguel, Miguel! Look at me! Hey, look at–”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” He did not sound like that, but he did remember saying stuff of an equally embarrassing nature… on multiple occasions. This did not bode well. So what happened wasn’t just a dream. It was real. Lyla had lied, but… why?

“Maybe Miguel just didn’t want to embarrass you,” Gwen shrugged.

Right. Not Lyla– Miguel. Miguel had lied.

“...Maybe.” Embarrass was one word for it. Miles was mortified. If Miguel wanted to spare him from any weird feelings, then why would he have left Miles alone? They could have easily cleared this up in the morning, maybe talked about it over breakfast, or…

“There was… one more thing, though.” Gwen said, hesitantly, as if she didn’t want to bring it up at all. His stomach churned at her tone,

“Well, what is it?” He really shouldn’t have asked. He got the confirmation he needed, but he couldn’t help but be nosy. If he regretted it, that was on him.

Gwen looked around, then when she found the coast was clear, she lowered her voice. It didn’t really matter, since pretty much all of them had enhanced hearing anyway, but it made Miles happy that she still respected his privacy. “This is going to sound weird,” as if the conversation wasn’t weird enough already, “but the way he looked at you sometimes was just… weird, Miles.”

His face scrunched up, and his stomach tightened at the last word. Weird was too vague, implied too much and too little. He shifted in his chair, tried not to make his next question too obvious, too impatient.

“Weird how?” He asked, because he was impatient.

Gwen set her fork down, food ignored once more. “Creepy-weird.”

Every ounce of hope in him died upon impact.

He felt his insides twist into tight coils, sinking like heavy rocks in the pit of his stomach. He scratched a dull nail on his neck, summoning an imaginary itch to distract him from his own dread. He was not unsettled or uncomfortable, and he was not flickering, subconsciously wanting to run away and hide.

“Look, Miles,” Gwen said, and he felt awful at how worried she sounded. This wasn’t supposed to upset her, too. “I can tell something about this is bothering you, so if Miguel hurt you, then you can tell me.”

He was being too obvious. He needed to fix this before it got worse. No more Miguel talk.

“No, no! No.” He sat up straight and shook his head, feeling dread crawling up his spine, finding a home under his skin. It chewed at his nerves, goosebumps running along his arms. “It’s not like that. Anything he did would have been consensuuuu… al.”

This had been a mistake from the start, but why did he have to keep going? Gwen stared at him as if he suddenly sprouted two heads, blue eyes blown wide like full moons. Her surprise didn’t last long, fury taking its place on her face, furrowed brows and hard lines around her mouth.

“Miles?” Gwen leaned in to whisper, venom seeping into every word. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

He flinched, even if he knew that anger wasn’t necessarily towards him. His hands moved on their own, gesturing to everything and nothing at the same time. He didn’t know where to keep his eyes, and he found himself looking at everything in the room except her. The tray, the windows, the bathroom sign. “I mean, like, if anything did happen, which it did not, because that would be super bad and wrong, it wouldn’t have been– you know, like that.”
Alright, so an acting career definitely wasn’t in the cards. He’d have to turn down that movie deal later.

“I– oh my god?” Gwen clenched her fists, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, as if the sight of him was just too much. “I thought I was just being a little paranoid, but he molested you? For real?”

The accusation hit him like a truck.

Molested? No way, that’s reserved for… victims. And predators. What happened between him and Miguel was different! Miles started it, and Miguel made him feel good and adored. It was nice. He would do it again. He wanted to do it again.

Molested! What the hell. Miguel wasn’t a pedophile, he… just took his chances. They both did. A younger Miles didn’t have nearly as much baggage or restraint. It made sense that things happened then and not… now. Even if he was more than willing now…

Molested. No, what they did was worse than that. He wasn’t a virgin anymore. Miguel made sure of that.

He stayed quiet, feeling ugly and stupid and wrong.

Gwen sensed it, his hesitance, and doubt… and fidgeting. She knew all his tells whether he liked it or not. She turned to face him again, pity in her eyes. He couldn’t take it. It was his turn to look away.

“Miles, that’s so fucked up. Super fucked up.” She sounded more sad than mad now, and it made him feel worse. Miles wasn’t a victim. He wouldn’t let her think he was one.

“It isn’t like that, Gwen! Seriously, it was…” He didn’t mean to yell, but he didn’t know how to defend it, phantom hands pressing on his hips, thighs, stomach. Gwen was accusing Miguel of something Miles was not ready to tackle. Miles bit his lip, tried to find a better way to word himself, coming up empty. So he did what he does best, word-vomiting until there was nothing left to say. “I… wanted it. I really like him.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted it, even to himself. Miguel had been so kind, so gentle, and Miles wanted more. Was that so wrong of him? Was that such a bad thing? There was so much disdain and hatred before, and now that Miles knew that Miguel could love him, it was all he wanted.

“Miles…” She reached for his hand, and he let her hold it. He tried not to wish they were Miguel’s (and failed). “You know that’s not okay. I mean– he’s way older than you, and he’s our boss.”

“As if you’re any better!” Miles snapped, pulling his hand away. He wasn’t a kid. He was fifteen, and he knew what he wanted. “I’ve seen the way you look at Jess–”

“You promised you would never bring that up again!” Red rose to her cheeks, and she playfully slapped his shoulder. As if on cue, he whined, an overly dramatic ”ow”. Some of the tension left then; it didn’t feel so suffocating. “Look– that’s… different.”

Miles didn’t believe her. “Why? Because you’re older than me?”

“No–” Gwen said, eyes downcast. Guilty, like that had been at least part of it. “It’s… I know it’ll never happen. It’s just… fantasy stuff, Miles. She just sees me as a kid. She has her own family.”

Why did she get to have fantasies?

It wasn’t fair. Miles just… got lucky. Making the first move had been all the difference. He and Miguel just… gravitated to each other. They were different from Gwen and Jess.

He had a feeling Gwen would’ve done the same in his position, if given the chance. His eyes twitched. She was trying to be mature, Miles could tell, inserting herself into the big sister role he knew she wanted, preaching a moral high ground that Miles knew she didn’t have.

But most of all, Miguel didn’t have anyone else. There wasn’t a family for him to go back to, and if Miles could fill some of that emptiness, then…

Gwen’s hand settled on his shoulder. She sighed, and she looked so concerned that he couldn’t bring himself to keep arguing. He knew he couldn’t win. He didn’t know if he wanted to.

“...Yeah. You’re right, Gwen.” He muttered, defeated. All the fight in him was gone.

“Look, Miles–” Gwen’s watch beeped at her, and she aggressively shushed it. She reluctantly stood up from her seat. Before she turned to leave, she patted his back, gently, as if he was made of glass. “The last thing I want is for you to get hurt, okay?”

Too late for that.

When Gwen left, so did he.

A trip back home was long overdue. A whole week without texting his parents wasn’t going to fly, even after admitting his secret identity. A few button presses on his watch took him back home, a portal appearing just below his ceiling. He was sent crashing down onto his bed, groaning on impact, and a minute hadn’t even gone by before he heard a heavy trail of steps up the stairs.

“Miles Gonzalo Morales!” Uh oh. The middle name coming out was never a good sign. After all this time, Miles knew that the only thing worse than a horde of supervillains was a mother’s wrath.

The door to his room burst open before he had a chance to feign sleep, and his mom stood at its entrance, knuckles pale and taut as she gripped the doorknob with the force to make the poor knob creek in pain. She turned on the light, warm white illuminating her face. She looked… exhausted. He was certain he looked the same.

“Where have you been? Are you hurt? My god, I know you have your Spider-Man things to do, but no call? No text? You’re in trouble. You know that, right?” She closed the door behind her, cursing to herself as she had to maneuver through the mess of his room.

“Yeah,” Miles easily accepted, too tired to argue. He sat up, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. “I know.”

She knew her boy would have more to say, more to argue and disagree about, and his tired acceptance made her eyes soften. It was different from Gwen’s pity. Instead of judgment, there was love, unwavering and unconditional. He knew Gwen was coming from a good place, but there simply wasn’t a better place than home sweet home.

“Honey,” Rio sat with him on the bed, and she put her hand on his cheek, stroking the baby fat that still remained. “Is something wrong?”

“No– no.” Miles instinctively spat out, but the concerned look on his mother’s face made his stomach twist in guilt. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the threat of tears. He breathed in, then breathed out. “...Um, yeah. A little.”

“You know you can tell me and your father anything.”

She always said that, and he knew it was true, but… where the fuck was he supposed to start?

“I know. I know. I just, uh…” Miles fiddled with his thumbs, unable to meet her eyes.

Right, so. From the top... he was de-aged back into his thirteen year old body, and his boss at the Spider Society fucked his guts. Sure, he’s over twice Miles’ age, but he liked it. He wanted it. Really bad. And everything is fine, and he wasn’t molested. It’s not like that, but now he’s all confused, and he feels weird because his friend said it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong. And he really misses Miguel, wants nothing more than to just talk, but–

Yeah, no. Absolutely not. He needed to try a different approach. Something a little less… explicit. “I guess I’m just… going through stuff. Not as Spider-Man. Less cool stuff. Like, uh… relationship stuff…?”

It’s a good save. Relationship stuff. Sure. Amazing cover-up, Miles. Why was this way harder to talk about than the whole “I lied to you for a year because I’m a teenage vigilante” thing? At least that had some closure, but this… he didn’t know where this was going to end up. It scared him.

“Mhm.” At least it worked? His mom didn’t seem alarmed or suspicious of it. She just nodded, pressing down on his tense shoulders to work at the stress built up over the day. It felt good, made his body and mouth relax.

“I just feel weird. About a… person. I thought we had something going on, but h–” Fuck. “They, uh–” The doubt Gwen planted into his skull crept back, loomed over him, made his voice trail off to a pitiful hiss. What if she was right? Trying to find the words for it made the gears in his brain turn, searching for what exactly was making him feel so lost. He knew what he was feeling, but he didn’t know why.

Then it came to him, a dull ache in the back of his head.

Did… Miguel use him?

It felt wrong. He liked Miguel. He wanted the man to like him back, but it felt so out of reach. Impossible.

“Miles, it’s okay.” She nodded along, as if Miles was making perfect sense. It brought some comfort. If she could figure out what Miles was trying to say, then maybe– “If this is about you liking a boy, that’s okay.”

What.

“What?” It was so far off that all his worries shattered like glass. He laughed, and it was genuine, so taken aback that his body didn’t know what else to do.

His mom wasn’t phased, taking his reaction as fear-like rather than what-was-going-on-like. She continued, voice comforting yet firm. “When you were keeping secrets before… Jeff and I thought that’s what it was about. Then you brought Gwen around, and we were a little confused, but we did some searching and learned–”

This conversation was going completely off track; he had to redirect it, do something. He furiously shook his head, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. That’s not– I mean, it kind of is, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about! At all!”

“No?” Rio pulled away, raising an eyebrow. She pursed her lips, and now she was looking at him suspiciously. No! He was actually being honest this time! This was quickly becoming one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, easily overtaking how his hand got glued to Gwen’s hair. “Well… alright. If you say so.”

“Oh my god,” Miles whisper-shouted, hands reaching around to clutch the back of his head. His ears burned. “Oh my god. Is this why you kept bringing up Uncle Joel? Because he’s getting married to a guy?”

Rio shrugged her shoulders. “I just wanted you to know that we were okay with it!”

Everything was adding up. How his mom changed the background of her Headbook profile picture to a rainbow during Pride Month, how his dad kept asking which girl or guy he was taking to prom, how when Lady Gigi came on the radio, they skipped over the inappropriate lyrics and commented on her bisexuality, of all things. He was almost grateful that being Spider-Man made him miss all the signs that his parents were expecting him to come out.

“Mami, please.” He whined, because this was the worst way to come out.

“Can you blame me, mijo?” He couldn’t. “We had no idea what was going on with you, and no matter how much we tried, you kept… pushing us away. I know why now, but the last thing I wanted was to lose you to whatever was bothering you.”

“I know…” He pulled the blanket over both their laps. “I know.”

“No matter how big you get, you’ll always be my little man.” She pressed him close, nuzzled her cheek into the side of his face, and Miles exhaled a shaky giggle in the crook of her neck. “You still want to tell me about your guy?”

Miles wished Miguel was his guy.

It was a huge oversimplification of their dynamic, but Miles snorted at the thought. Miguel wasn’t just his guy. He was his boss, his mentor-of-sorts… The guy who told him he was nothing but a mistake, the guy who held him down and clawed his shoulder so deep that it left scars, the guy who sung him lullabies when sleep was but moments away.

He giggled again, dreamily, this time, wishing he could live in the world his mom did. He finally relaxed, weight pushing her sideways, and she accepted it all. He was way bigger than her, had been for a good while, but she had a way of always, always making it feel good to be small. It was nice to just be Miles Morales, no weight-of-the-world on his shoulders. He leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder, having to bend down more to do so with each passing year.

“Maybe later. Right now, I’m super hungry.” His anxiety-driven nausea had taken its toll on his poor stomach, and it growled in agony at the lack of food in his system.

His mom laughed, and her fingers tickled the back of Miles’ neck. “Lucky for Spider-Man, his dad is picking something up on the way home.”

Love was Chinese food on grandma’s dinner plates and telenova reruns playing in the background. It was stories about traveling nurses and carjackers, and the comfortable quiet of washing dishes and hugs before bed. Love was a routine, something he always knew he’d always have at home. Love was also the longing of a warm, heavy body against his back, rough hands on his stomach and lips to his scalp. Playful teasing and the rush of something new and exciting and dangerous. A relationship that everyone would frown upon, one he knew was wrong but felt so right, and worst of all, love was the fear that it may never come back.

Miguel was avoiding him.

It had been over two weeks since they were even in the same room. Miles still received the occasional mission, but they were communicated through Lyla rather than coming from the man who assigned them. He didn’t even bother to ask her about Miguel’s whereabouts, knowing he’d get either a lie or non-answer.

It was fine. Miles was not hung up about it. He certainly wasn’t losing sleep over the thought of Gwen being right. His grades weren’t slipping thinking about how maybe Miguel got what he wanted and was content to keep Miles at arm’s length for the rest of their lives. His parents definitely didn’t notice his sour mood; how whenever he came home on the weekends, he would slink off to his room and rot in bed until his Spider-Man duties called.

Okay, so it wasn’t fine, not even a little.

His crush on Gwen wasn’t nearly the heartache it could have been. Even though her rejection stung, they were still best friends, and they hung out all the time. Margo and Hobie and Pav, too. Miguel hadn’t even designated it worth the time to look at him, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to run away and hide. Once a kid, always a kid, he supposed.

The worst part is that he couldn’t bring himself to hate Miguel. He tried to muster up the bitterness in his heart, the anger and heartache, too. What was supposed to be hatred was just an overwhelming numbness. All the what’s and why’s rang in circles in his head, and it left him ragged.

When Miguel sunk his teeth and claws into him, did he mean to take Miles’ heart with it?

It was showing in his work. He was getting sloppy. Villains were managing to land more blows on him, both at home and whatever dimension needed the Society’s intervention. Nothing too major, but–

“Miles!” Pavitr’s voice broke him out of his trance. Miles blinked back into existence, the adrenaline of the fight bringing him back to his senses, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough, and this universe’s Rhino slammed into him, sending them both into the wall of an abandoned factory. It hurt, breath knocked out of his lungs and deep bruises already rising to his skin. The building lost its footing with the broken foundation, and it crumbled under its own weight. All Miles remembered was concrete falling around him like shooting stars and blinding pain bleeding into his vision until there was nothing left but black.

The infirmary bed was comfortable at least, but he didn’t have much time to enjoy it. He faded in and out of consciousness, never fully present for more than a few minutes. Sometimes he could make out blurry figures and hushed voices. The shape and sound of his friends and Spider-Nurse. Miguel was nowhere to be found except in his dreams.

When he finally woke up, for real this time, it was to an empty room. He sniffed and scrunched up his face at the smell of a sickeningly clean hospital room.

His watch beeped, and he thought to ignore it in favor of catching some decent sleep, but it was loud and unrelenting. He groaned and turned over to his side, groaned again at how even the slightest movement shifted the ache in his tendons. He brought his wrist to his face, squinted at the neon text.

1 new message.

From: Miguel O’Hara
When you’re cleared, I need to speak with you privately.

Miles had a concussion. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but he still got scolded for it by everyone, as if they weren’t just as bad. The injury gave him some time off from Spider-Man duties, so he tried, key word tried, to focus on his studies. Turns out that physics is a little difficult to understand when too much fluorescent light overflooded his poor synapses.

He was officially declared well enough after a week, though Gwen insisted that he still needed to take it easy. Talking to her was getting easier, as long as they steered the conversation away from Miguel. They had their ups and downs, and this was just another stumble along their friendship. They weren’t going to see eye to eye on everything, especially this, but Miles couldn’t bear the idea of Gwen not being by his side.

Miles briefly mentioned that Miguel asked to see him, and the look on her face begged“don’t do it” on its own. Despite everything, she kept her reservations to herself and just wished him luck. It’ll be okay. I’m here for you. Be safe. It was all he wanted to hear, and with a long hug, he had all the solace he needed to face Miguel.

Miles would have liked to say that he didn’t show up to Miguel’s lab as soon as Spider-Nurse gave him the official okay, but, well. He practically sprinted there, out of breath by the time he reached the looming doors. They opened automatically, as if they expected him, and he took up their invitation and rushed inside.

It was empty. What the hell. Miguel asked him to show up, and he wasn’t even here? Surely he would have known that Miles was better now, omniscient as he was. With no one around, he moved further in, tempted to snoop around to see if Miguel had any dirty secrets lying around.

The idea didn’t last long. A large hand reached from the shadows and clasped down on his shoulder, and he shrieked and tripped over his feet. If it weren’t for the stickiness granted by his powers, gravity would’ve won over and had him falling on his ass.

“Holy shit!” Miles shouted. His arms shot up in surprise, fingers on the trigger to his web shooters to fight off whatever gave him a scare. The scare in question just raised a thick eyebrow, unimpressed, and Miles lowered his arms and chuckled nervously at Miguel. He almost wished that Miguel was still raging at him, at least his Spider Senses would have given him a heads up. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Miguel looked worse than usual, which was saying a lot. Exhaustion wasn’t new on Miguel, but there was something… off. It looked severe, a deep rooted fatigue that made Miguel’s wrinkles even more sunken; the color in his eyes duller, grayed and disinterested.

“...Hi.” Miles replied, because what the fuck was he supposed to say? He had this whole idea of how their talk would go, but… now that Miguel was here, Miles was just… Confused. Hurt. Angry.

Miguel strolled past him, and Miles turned around to keep him in his line of sight. He really was huge, shoulders wide as a damn door, back muscles taut even through his digital suit, and Miles had to stop thinking about his size before his mind went somewhere it would never return. Begone, horny thoughts.

Miguel busied himself with an array of screens that appeared with a wave of a hand. The documents and videos surrounding him must have been more important than Miles staring at him like a lost puppy. “What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself hurt or killed out there.”

“Yeah, well,” Miles huffed. Sure, Miguel was sexy, but unfortunately, he knew just how to piss Miles off in record time, intentional or not. Minus two points to Miles’ mental tally, though Miguel was already in the negatives by now. “Spider-Man has accelerated healing, so.”

The phrasing came out thoughtlessly, and Miles almost thought to take it back until he noticed the effect it had on Miguel. The particular wording wasn’t lost on the older man, and Miguel’s hands froze briefly before he collected himself again, the revelation unworthy of anything more than muted surprise.

“You remember.”

“...Yeah.” Miles muttered, kicking his foot up at nothing. He remembered much more than that, but Miguel probably figured that out already. ““No thanks to you.”

“There was a chance that you wouldn’t,” Miguel stated, as if that explained everything. “It didn’t seem productive to bring up, if that was the case.”

Productive. Right. Because what they had was definitely professional. “Well, I did, and…” Miles bit his lip, silently chiding himself for acting more childish than he was at thirteen. He didn’t even have anything else to say, so he just stood there, holding himself together in the uncomfortable silence.

There wasn’t much point to delay the inevitable. Miles crossed his arms, hugged himself tight because he knew no one else would.

“...Do you even care?” His voice cracked under the weight of the question, hurt oozing from every word.

“I do.” Miguel replied, cold and calculated. Like a machine. Even Lyla had more tact. He idly fiddled with one of the screens. “What I did was inappropriate. I thought it was best to give you space.”

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me?” Miles laughed coldly, letting his heart get the best of him. He kept going, rapidfire. “I– I got to thinking that maybe you weren’t into guys my age.” It was petty and wrong, but he could practically hear Gwen’s preaching over and over again and how true it was starting to ring. How would she feel knowing that she was right? That Miles was wrong and naive–

“What?” Miguel whipped his head around so fast that it rivaled the speed and force of a car crash. His body followed to fully face Miles, finally, and he placed his hands on his hips. He looked Miles up and down, as if trying to find humor in Miles’ body language. He didn’t find what he was looking for, and he shook his head, exasperated. “You can’t be serious.”

Miles shrugged, a pointed roll of his shoulders. If it weren’t for the situation, he would have laughed at the stupid look Miguel was giving him. It wasn’t often that Miguel allowed more than a scowl on his face. He took a mental photograph of Miguel in the moment, wide eyed and mouth hanging open like a fish, and standing so stiff he might as well have been struck by lightning.

Miguel brought a hand to his face, ran it down from his forehead to his lips, and muttered low curses to himself, Spanish so foul that Miles’ abuelita would be rolling in her grave. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He paused, shook his head again. “You can’t– I had a daughter, Miles.”

Miguel had a point. Miles couldn’t imagine Miguel hurting his daughter, at least in that way, but– “But that didn’t stop you from–” Fucking? Toying? Taking? None of them fit; they felt too personal, and Miles thought he would die if he spilled his guts so soon. “From screwing me, Miguel. You can’t blame me for going there!”

“Look,” Miguel sighed, more annoyed than apologetic. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was wrong. But, frankly, if you want me to get in trouble,” he made air quotes at that, which was so aggravating Miles didn’t know where to begin, “I don’t know what to tell you. The age of consent in Nueva York is–”

There was no fucking way this was an actual conversation they were having right now. Miles didn’t even let him finish, clamping his fingers against his thumb to get Miguel to stop while he was ahead. He was surprised that Miguel listened.

Now that Miles had the floor, he didn’t know what to do with it. He needed to piece this together, find out how Miguel’s stupid brain worked. “That isn’t– what? That’s what you think this is about?”

Miguel tilted his head, a sliver of a fang poking out from his parted lips. It was a little cute. Only a little. “...Yes?”

“Oh my god,” Miles wanted to curl up and die. Why did Miles have to like this one? His mother would be so disappointed, age gap be damned. He swore Miguel had the emotional intelligence of a toddler, so he explained it to him like one. “You didn’t think I might have, you know, wanted to be around you?”

“I–” Miguel looked honestly taken aback, as if the concept of Miles liking him was simply not an option. He brought his hand to his chin, thinking hard. “No. That hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Seriously.” This was exhausting. “For weeks I thought you– you just… were done with me. You got what you wanted, and you were– were throwing me away.” He felt naked, skinned alive, razed to the ground, as he verbalized his fears. Saying it outloud made it all the more tangible.

“No, no.” Miguel repeated as he stepped forward, arms outstretched as if to embrace Miles, tuck him away under the safety of his bulk, but in the last moment, he stopped and kept them stiffly at his side. “I wouldn’t do that to someone I– someone like you, Miles.”

But he did.

Miles must have said that out loud, because Miguel looked away, even took a step back.

“You have no idea how I’ve been feeling for the past month.” No one could understand. This was Miles’ mess. No matter who he talked to, no one would get him– get them. “I missed you, and– it didn’t feel like you even cared that I existed.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Miguel truly was incapable of apologizing, but at this point, if Miguel said sorry Miles didn’t think he could himself hold back from hitting him. “I’m an adult. You’re not. I should have had more control over myself.”

It wasn’t good enough. Miguel wanted to keep playing the responsible adult, even after what he started, and Miles wasn’t having it. “Then… then tell me you regret it.”

“I regret–” Miguel stopped, fists clenched, shaking under Miguel’s strength. He chose his next words carefully, eyes planted on the empty space next to Miles. “I regret hurting you.”

Close, but no cigar. Miguel was getting warmer, but Miles wouldn’t be content until he pried the confession out of Miguel. “That isn’t what I said. Tell me you regret it. All of it.”

Miguel was losing his composure. Miles swore he saw his claws shoot up from the pads of his gloves, only to instantly retreat back into his skin. His jaw was tight, pupils glowing, veins on the brink of bursting, and if Miles didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was straight up tweaking. “...I can’t.”

Miles smiled, reassured. It felt good to finally get what he wanted after all the loneliness, the uncertainty, even if Miguel sounded so pained while admitting it. The heavy tension in his shoulders suddenly felt weightless, and he practically hopped over, like a rabbit, to stand right before Miguel. “I knew it! You–”

Before Miles could even think to lean forward to close the gap between them, maybe for a hug, or a kiss, if he was feeling bold, Miguel stiffly stared down, impassive. Miles’ smile slowly fell, sensing a brittle chill tickling his bones.

“It was a mistake, Miles.”

Miles’ blood ran ice cold, and his heart shattered; every small, splintered piece, sharp as needles, poked and prodded into his chest, nestled their way to rest like hungry, needy parasites.

A mistake? That’s… all it was to Miguel? He said it so easily, like he rehearsed it. Had it memorized, a play with one actor, and one fool. Their meeting wasn’t anything more than an opportunity to let Miles down. There was no confession, no sweeping Miles off his feet, no affection save for whatever he conjured up in his stupid, stupid teenaged imagination.

Miles had been holding the time they had together so high, but now it was… all crashing down. It was too heavy to hold, so… maybe he should just… let it go, even if the thought made his throat close up and eyes water.

Fine. If Miguel wanted to throw all this away, then Miles would too. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, though. It wasn’t in his nature, always mouthing off even when he knew he was already losing. “Right. Right! Just like me, right?”

“That isn’t what I said, and you know it.” It was that authoritarian tone that made Miles rebel in the first place. Miguel always had to be in control, even when Miles’ feelings were on the line. Miguel roughly grabbed Miles’ shoulder, held it tight enough to make Miles wince.

“You didn’t have to, Miguel.” Miles shoved Miguel’s hand off of him, and he turned away to shield his watch, fingers hurriedly dialing the numbers 1-6-1-0. “I don’t know why– why I even came. You can forget this, all of it. I’m– I’m going home, and I–”

Miles wasn’t expecting Miguel’s breath against his ear, and he would have pushed him off if Miguel’s massive arms weren’t holding him hostage against his chest. Miles’ feet weren’t even touching the ground anymore, hoisted up in Miguel’s embrace, and his stomach tied itself into tight, searing knots at how easily Miguel manhandled him. He struggled, kicked and scratched whatever he could reach, but Miguel just wouldn’t budge.

“Let go! I won’t– tell anyone, but Gwen already–” A low, dangerous noise escaped Miguel’s throat, and it minced any fight on Miles’ tongue. Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say, and Miguel held him even tighter, enough to crush the air out of his lungs.

Terror coursed through Miles’ veins, and he was certain that this was the end. He shut his eyes, trembling, and braced himself for… something, anything.

Instead of claws down his chest or fangs at his neck, gentle lips tenderly brushed against the shell of his ear.

“Miles,” Miguel practically growled, betraying the gentleness in his affection. Miles looked up, just barely peeking through his eyelids to see a dark and crazed look in Miguel’s scarlet eyes. The same when they were face to face at the Go-Home Machine, except now there wasn’t anything shielding Miles from Miguel’s suffocating hold. “If you leave, I will find you.”

“...Yeah?” He should have been scared, but the thrill left his skin burning. Goosebumps up his arms, heart pounding. The sharp sting of venom rang up his body to his shoulders; just enough to reach Miguel’s chest. He flinched, and Miles took the chance to break free. He jumped back, and his finger hovered over the button to summon a portal home. The ends of his lips curled into a devious grin, light freckles moving with the playful wrinkle of his nose. “You promise?”

“It was intended to be more of a threat, but sure.” Miguel finally laughed, and Miles had a feeling that things were finally looking up. “I’ll give you a ten second head start.”

“As if I need it.” Still, Miles knew he wasn’t kidding, and he soared into the ring of whirring bright colors. The sound of Miguel’s “tres” echoed in his ears, and it wasn’t long until he found himself back in his universe, a tall rooftop doing little to cushion his fall. It was cold and dark, the moonlight reflecting off his suit in red rivets. He knew he didn’t have much time, and, frankly, he couldn’t wait. He walked, then ran, and leapt off the building, pointing his hands high, webs to the shadowy mirrors of his city’s skyscrapers. He pulled, and he was off, flying high.

What they had wasn’t normal, but it was theirs.