TW: no minors!!!!!!! u know what this means by now
lmao this chapter had to get chopped in half 'cause the smut was so goddamn LONG
"Whoa," Peter says from the entranceway in awe. He peers curiously around the street and over my shoulder, into the brownstone. In one hand he holds a casserole dish. At his side MJ stands. "So this is what Miguel's other home looks like."
I raise my fingers to my lips with a smile, a reminder. "Rosita doesn't know."
"Oh." Peter clasps his palm over his mouth. "Sorry."
It's a little odd seeing Peter without his Spidey suit. Instead, he's dressed smartly in blue jeans and a red polo shirt under a black jacket. It seems that he's a fan of his own colour scheme. MJ's swamped in a fluffy white coat and I just know by her slightly grumpy frown that it was forced upon her by Peter.
He really is an overbearing expectant. How cute.
I step to the side with a grin to allow them in and take the dish from Peter's hands. He helps his wife take off her coat and hangs it on the rack. He only gets halfway through slipping off his own jacket when he stops with a soft gasp, and I follow his stunned gaze.
Miguel's leading Rosalina down the hall with his hand in hers to proudly show her off. She looks at our new guests with inquisitive, brown eyes.
"Oh, my god!" Peter exclaims under his breath to me. "She looks just like you two!"
"That's how having kids work, Petey," MJ says with an amused smile. She smiles down at Rosalina when they reach us. "Hi, sweetheart. What's your name?"
Rosalina sticks out her hand for MJ to shake, which she takes with a flattered smile. "Me llamo Rosalina!" She sends the couple a proud look. "That means 'my name is Rosalina.'"
"Adorable and a genius!" Peter gushes, and Rosalina beams. He shakes her small hand enthusiastically. "Hi, Rosalina! Me llamo Peter." He scrunches his face in thought and places a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Er... her llamo is MJ."
Rosalina's face twists with confusion. "That's not how it works."
Miguel chuckles and tousles Rosalina's hair. "C'mon, papita. You can teach them all the Spanish you know over dinner."
Jess and Kellan arrive with a quiche in tow before we have a chance to head into the kitchen. Jess, dressed in orange bellbottoms and a white knotted shirt, is also odd to see without her suit. If I didn't know any better I would've assumed that her and Peter were normal. It feels like I'm meeting totally new people.
"Oh, my goodness, is this Rosalina?" is the first thing Jess says in playful awe. "You are just the cutest lil punk I've ever seen!"
Rosalina preens beneath all this attention. She stands taller and holds out her hand again.
"Me llamo Rosalina!" she greets. Jess shakes her hand happily.
"That means 'my name is Rosalina'," Peter whispers.
Jess sends him an amused look. "I figured." She turns her smile back to Rosita. "Nice to meet you, kid. I'm Jess."
"Kellan," Jess' husband greets, shaking all of our hands before bending down and giving Rosalina a fist bump.
"Shall we?" I gesture deeper into the house with a nod of my head. It's met with various sounds of agreement.
Miguel offers to take the casserole dish from me but, remembering his injury, I shy it away from him with squinted eyes. He sends a dry smile at me in response before picking up Rosalina instead and laughing at her squeal when she's thrown onto his shoulder. MJ, Kellan and Jess follow them down towards the living room.
I close the front door with my hip and glance at Peter questioningly when I notice him remaining behind. He gives me a gobsmacked look.
"He does have emotions," Peter says in shock. I laugh.
"C'mon," I snicker, and lead him to the living room where the others have congregated. He joins them on the couch. I head into the kitchen to set out the gifted casserole on the dining table.
I straighten out the bowl of salad beside it, and then reorganise the sauces and plate of steaks nervously. I haven't had guests over in years, and now I'm anxious to have everything look perfect.
My head lifts when Miguel enters the kitchen carrying Jess' quiche. I quickly step over and snatch it from him with a worried frown. He holds his palms up in surrender of the dinner goods.
"You should be resting that arm," I insist as I place it onto the table. I readjust it again, and then again. "What if you make it worse?"
Miguel presses his hand to my stomach and draws me into his chest to swamp me in a hug. I'm tense with stress, but his body warmth blooms along my back and softens me like butter. I submit into his hold.
"Tranquila, mi vida." He brushes his lips along my hairline. "It's not even that sore."
I turn in his arms to send him a cynical frown. I lower my voice so young ears don't potentially overhear.
"You broke your arm not even a few hours ago," I remind. My hand reaches up to pet his cheek and he tilts his head into my caress. "I'm going to worry. And I don't trust your pain tolerance."
Miguel smooths his lips against the fragile skin of my wrist and offers me a handsome smile. "I promised you I'll take care of myself, amor. Trust me."
"I'll trust you when you don't use that arm for a week," I say shortly. My breath shortens when his white teeth nip affectionately at the bulb of my palm. "You're a workaholic, Miguel. I know you."
His only response is a hum. He nuzzles deeper into my hand.
"And stop trying to be cute," I murmur. His actions have loosened my bravado with startling effect. "It won't work." Liar.
Miguel pecks my throbbing pulse point. "It aways works."
"Does not."
Miguel brings me closer by my waist and sinks into my lips for a kiss. I succumb immediately. My arms hook over his shoulders. It always works.
"We're being really bad hosts," I whisper. Miguel doesn't answer - he probably doesn't even really care. He just kisses me again, and I'm happy to let him.
Laughter from the living room pulls my scattered focus into a pivot, and my head turns towards the door. Miguel drags his lips down my throat. His finger hooks beneath the edge of my turtleneck and leisurely drags the cotton toward my collar, revealing the bite marks that never seem to disappear before a new one is left.
"I wish you didn't have to hide these," he murmurs. He kisses the freshest wound, a few days old, and I flinch at the jolt of my nerves. My attention is disseminated once again. "Te ves preciosa con ellas."
"Sorry," I say sarcastically, breathlessly, "would you prefer if I walk around with a sign saying 'I'm married to a sexual deviant'?"
Miguel's chuckle is rich and rumbling, and it rolls through my chest, leaves my heart shaking in its wake. He kisses it again, and pain prickles across my skin like frost without the chill. My eyes slide shut.
I know I should stop him. I know I should go out into the living room and actually interact with our friends - the whole point of this evening that I organised. I just can't seem to bring myself to. I'm caught in his web.
"Why can't it be 'see how much my husband adores me'?" Miguel kisses the bite below it and I shiver. "'See how I'm the most important woman in the multiverse to him'?" He kisses it again and whispers along my collarbone. "Me encanta cómo te ves."
I guide Miguel's head up to mine. My smile is small and enamoured as he takes the opportunity to kiss my wrist again. He's insatiable; taking any chance he can to litter me with affection. My heart is so full it's almost toppling, almost bursting at the seams. I'm so in love with him that it stumbles beneath the weight of it, over and over and over.
"You're such a smooth talker, Dr. O'Hara," I softly declare. Grabbing his good arm, I step towards the living room and pull him with me. "But we really should get back to our guests."
Miguel closes his eyes with an exasperated growl. "Why'd we have them over in the first place? I already see them too much."
"You're so unsociable," I sigh. My hip nudges the kitchen door open and we pass through the hallway. I glance over my shoulder at him. "One day you'll miss these moments."
Miguel's frustrated expression evens out and he goes silent. That might have gotten a little too real. I squeeze his hand with a small smile and he returns it.
When we enter the living room we find Rosalina and Peter sitting on the floor and across the coffee table from one another. She's trying her best to teach him Spanish while the others watch on.
"Hablo," Rosalina says. Her attention is razor-sharp.
"Hablo," Peter repeats.
"Yo no hablo español," Rosalina says.
"Yo no hablo español," Peter repeats.
"No - hablo."
"Hablo."
Rosalina frowns impatiently. "Hablo."
"Hablo. Hablo." Peter shakes his head and surveys his amused audience. "I swear I'm saying it right, am I not saying it right?"
"And where have you two been?" Jess asks when she notices us.
"Setting up dinner," I smoothly answer. "Which is ready, by the way."
She raises a brow. "Uh-huh." She's entirely unconvinced.
"Food!" Rosalina pings to her feet. She grabs Peter's hand and drags him towards the kitchen. "¡Tengo hambre!"
"I have no idea what that means but I can take a guess!" Peter says with matched enthusiasm. I watch them leave with an amused, shocked smile. They got along quick.
"O'Hara's love Peter Parker," I muse. Miguel rolls his eyes and assists MJ up from the couch.
We migrate to the dining table. Extra chairs from the study and Miguel's lab have been pulled out to make up numbers, and the feast that's been laid out is utterly mouth-watering. The smell alone almost makes up for the hours Miguel and I slaved away cooking. My stomach rumbles earnestly.
We pass plates and platters, tongs and salt. Miguel cuts Rosalina's steak for her because she pouted at him. Food is piled high - and the Spideys have noticeably even more than the average before them. Rosalina looks at Peter and Jess' servings with wide eyes.
"How's your arm?" Jess asks. "Is it giving you any trouble?"
Miguel flexes it and shakes his head. "Only a little twinge."
"What happened to your arm?" Rosalina asks before shoving a potato quarter into her mouth.
"I bumped it," Miguel answers with a small smile. "But mama gave it a kiss and I'm all better."
Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Peter slowly dying.
"It's scientifically proven to heal wounds faster," Rosalina says to our guests through a mouthful of mash. MJ lifts her hand to muffle her snort. Jess and Kellan chuckle. Peter dies quicker.
"Don't talk while eating," I lightly chide.
Rosalina huffs but doesn't say anything more until she swallows. Her brown eyes flicker across the new faces at the dinner table. "How do you know my parents?"
"We're work friends with your dad," Peter answers.
"You must be really smart to work with my dad!" she exclaims. "He's the smartest person I know."
"I don't know, papita," Miguel says as he picks up a bit of quiche with his fork. He nods his head at her. "I think you're far smarter than I am."
Rosalina nods seriously. "It's true."
"Smartest in the room," Kellan adds. "The whole city, even."
Rosalina keeps nodding. "Also true."
"Stop encouraging her," I say lightheartedly. "Or else she'll get a head as big as her dad's."
"I do not have a big head," Miguel defends himself.
"Your ego is bigger than the moon," Jess counters. Peter laughs at the insulted frown on Miguel's face.
"Don't worry about it." I squeeze his arm. "Confidence is attractive on you."
"Gross," Jess complains. "Don't flirt while I'm eating."
"That's karma," MJ says with a smirk. The table erupts into snickers.
Jess, Kellan, Peter and MJ stay late into the night. Wine (and orange juice for MJ) and dessert is brought out and devoured. They say goodnight to Rosalina when she begins to grow drowsy and Miguel and I decide to take her to bed. When she's tucked in and kissed on the forehead, we venture back downstairs to rejoin our friends.
Despite Miguel's earlier irritation at having our friends over, he's smiling, relaxing on the couch beside me as Jess recounts one of her first missions as Spider-Woman. He's at ease, and probably for the first time his colleagues have seen. Peter's wide-eyed looks at me whenever Miguel laughs is enough to know it's true.
"We should do this more often," Peter says as he helps a sleepy MJ put on her ridiculously fluffy coat. "I like doing normal adult stuff. It's so... mundane."
"Yeah, well... not too often," Miguel stiffly agrees.
Peter sends a baffled look at Jess, at me, and then finally at Miguel. "It's like you're a different person."
Miguel tilts his head with an unimpressed look. "Don't get used to it."
"And he's back!" Peter says with a snap of his fingers. "Ah, it was good while it lasted. I think leaving your 'niceness' for special occasions will only make me appreciate it more." He touches MJ's chin, who drowsily raises her nodding head. "Too much of a good thing, and all that."
"You can go, now," Miguel says. I swipe his stomach. "Oh, no - I mean wow, this was so nice. Adiós."
I roll my eyes at his unemotional monotony. "You're hopeless."
"Don't worry, Y/n," Jess says as she zips up her boots. "This is more comfortable for me, personally. Nice-Miguel freaked me out."
Miguel's shitty look darkens further. I chuckle.
"We're not having them over again," Miguel decides as we shut the door after bidding them farewell. "Never again."
"Oh, Miguito." I pull him towards me by his belt loops and rise onto my tiptoes to kiss him. "You're such a grumpy old man."
He grumbles against my lips, which only proves my point. But he kisses me softly. Even when he's in a bad mood, he's gentle.
I smile into the kiss. I'm so lucky that Rosita and I get to see his soft side every moment he's with us.
••🕷️••
I eye Miguel as he paces his station after having just sent a handful of Spideys on a mission.
It's only been a day since he promised me that he wouldn't use his arm, and I suspect that the inactivity is already getting to him. Miguel's used to finding anomalies and tackling them head-on, not just playing admin. His agitated energy is slowly getting on my nerves.
When his full-body fidgeting finally makes my patience snap, I shut my laptop lid and turn in my seat.
"Why don't we go for a walk?" I suggest.
Miguel glances at me before his attention shifts back to the screens around him. His foot taps. He swaps which hand sits on his hip three times as he scrolls through the different realities. "What for?"
"Miguel." I lift myself from my seat and approach the tall platform with my arms crossed. "You're driving me crazy with all this fidgeting. You need to burn some energy."
His hands pause. He's not even wearing his Spider-Man suit, instead standing in his station while wearing an unbuttoned flannel and loose jeans - the style of my world. I can't say which I prefer on him, though at least the temptation to fight won't be quite as strong since he's not in his suit - it's psychology, or something.
Miguel peeks down at me from his tall tower. "What kind of 'burning energy' are we talking about?"
The innuendo is not lost on me.
"The kind that won't annoy me into going home without you," I say dryly.
Miguel chuckles sheepishly before dropping to the floor before me lithely. He holds my elbows and my arms unfold, and his hands slide down to clasp my own.
"Lo siento, cariño," he murmurs. "I'm just antsy. A walk is a good idea."
My irritation eases, as it always does when Miguel looks at me with his dark, soulful eyes. My hands squeeze his with a smile.
But, as it turns out, a walk only makes him more energised.
"You're like a racehorse," I complain when, three hours after we returned from a short hike through a forest Miguel wanted to show me, he's back to fidgeting. He sends me an apologetic grimace and forces himself to still before the monitors. I lean back in my seat to watch him struggle with a sigh.
At least the forest was nice. Miguel told me about how he and his Y/n used to tramp through the longer, tougher trails together and camp overnight. And it's a gorgeous place, especially in the midst of new spring growth. I can see why she enjoyed it.
I'm tired, but Miguel is far from it. Maybe I should change tactics. He needs to relax in a different sort of way, because if he doesn't, I fear that he'll vibrate with so much energy that he'll explode. Or, worse, he'll jump out into a mission and injure his arm again. Or, even worse, I'll kill him.
"You need a break," I say. "I'm calling for a break."
Miguel sends me a baffled look over his shoulder. "We just went for a two hour walk."
"Yep, and it didn't help." I gesture impatiently for him to come down from his platform. "Vamos, let's go, chop-chop."
Miguel lands at my side just as I input the coordinates to home. By the time I'll finish doing what I planned, it'll be when we need to pick Roseta up from school, anyway. He can clock off early tonight. Lyla can keep an eye on the multiverse.
Miguel sends me a questioning look when we enter our bedroom. I drop my laptop onto the bedside table and turn to him with my hands on my hips.
"Shirt off," I order. "Get on the bed."
Miguel raises his brows but does as told with a small, anticipatory smile. His gaze tracks me as I shuffle across the duvet to his back. "Usually there's a little more foreplay - ¡ay, coño!"
"Jesus, you're knotted up," I murmur as I dig my fingers into his shoulders. His muscles resist me wholly, bunching up stiffly between my firm rolls. "No wonder you're always so grumpy."
He flinches away from me when my thumb pushes into a thick knot. "¡Au! ¡Au, eso duele!"
"Oh, hush." My fingers drag down either side of his spine. "You can walk off a broken arm fine, but can't handle a little massage?"
Miguel grunts at the feeling of the heels of my hands pushing into the muscles over his hips. "Only because you're trying to kill me."
"Maybe." My hands return to his shoulders and he buckles beneath the aches of his knots with a whine. "You shouldn't let yourself get this bad." He groans in pain and I huff. "¿No puedes ser valiente?"
"¿No lo puedes hacer un poquito mas suave?" he shoots back.
My fingers burrow deeper into a knot in response. He grimaces.
"You're a terrible person," Miguel grumbles.
"I know." I kiss the base of his neck when he tenses up with a whimper. Pity wins out. "My poor Miguito. You work so hard, don't you?"
"Don't act like you love me, now," he mutters grumpily. I chuckle and press my lips to the spot between his shoulder blades.
"I can show you just how much I love you," I hum. My fingers lift onto the tips of their nails and I pull them down his hot skin. Miguel's grimace shifts into a shiver. Then he yelps when my palms dig into his knots again. "You'll feel better when I'm finished with you."
"Just admit that you like seeing me in pain," he spits.
I scoff through a short laugh. "Don't forget that you're the one who gets off on making me bleed."
"Hey-" Miguel goes to argue but cuts himself off when my hands curl over to the inside of his thighs and scratch along his jeans. He drops his head with a sigh. "Verga..."
"I know, baby," I hum. He stiffens with a gasp when my touch smooths over his clothed dick. "You're just throbbing with energy, aren't you?"
Miguel turns his head with a broken inhale, eyes closed as he rolls on the waves of the sensations I give him. I watch him, each jerk of his body, each parting of his lips. He's so beautiful when he's in agony like this.
"Is this a new torture tactic of yours? Did-" Miguel exhales sharply when my fingers press down on either side of his crotch. "Did I annoy you that much?"
I stand on my knees, rest my chest on his back, and knead my fists down his deltoids. His next breath expels shakily. My lips linger on the spot behind his ear.
"Yeah, amor, you did." I kiss the smooth skin there. "So I suggest you quiet down."
Miguel shudders. It's not often that I'm the one making the calls. He's usually so domineering - both in bed and over the multiverse. Relinquishing his control must be so difficult after holding it for so long; and I intend on making it rewarding.
My lips press to the curve of his jaw. "Be good for me and I'll be good to you, okay, baby?" When Miguel nods, I lean down to kiss his pulse. "Good boy."
His long, slow sigh makes me smile proudly. Looks like someone enjoys being called that.
I sit on my haunches and admire the geometry of his back - the tantalising shapes that make him, that shift with each breath, the way all of him points down to his ass. My tongue wets my lips, my teeth bites it, as my gaze traces the broadness of his shoulders to his slim waist. My hands itch to explore.
There's faint lines in his dark skin where my nails scratched him. I'd like to leave more - but not today. Today's about me enjoying him, and Miguel enjoying what I do to him.
He glances one maroon eye over his shoulder at me when I stare for too long. I meet his gaze sinfully.
"Take off your pants, Miguito," I softly demand. He's sliding them off before I even finish my sentence, throwing them onto the floor without care. "I want you to touch yourself."
Miguel grips his cock in one hand obediently, and the sight alone almost makes me falter, makes my stomach twist violently with desire. My breath releases in a shaky exhale when he begins pumping. My hands return to his shoulders.
He gasps when my fingers roll through his knots again, and he matches his strokes with the tempo of my massage. I kiss his skin through each hiss of pain, each sigh of pleasure. I do it until he's supple.
"Does that feel good?" I ask softly.
"Verga," Miguel whimpers, nodding. "So good."
I smile in triumph. My hands trace his back like they're mapping him to memory, though my memory of his body doesn't need all that much of a refresh. They roll and dive over the valleys of his spine, over the hills of his muscles. They lift with each deep breath he takes.
My touch slides beneath his arms and presses deep into the flesh of his v-line. Miguel grits his teeth and grunts. His rhythm falters.
"Are you still antsy, now?" I coo. He grabs my hand and pulls it down to his cock.
"Cariño- cariño, please," Miguel whines, dragging my palm over his throbbing, stiff warmth. "I want to feel you, por favor, por favor."
How can I say no when he sounds so pretty, begging for my touch? I kiss his shoulder blade. "Relax, Miguito. I've got you."
He sighs in tense relief when my hand continues its slow, lovely pumps. His lashes flutter over his cheeks. His grip slackens over my own.
"Is this what you want?" I whisper.
"Sì." Miguel tries to regulate his breathing. It doesn't really work.
I gasp softly when my hand leaves his dick. "Uh-oh."
Miguel drops his head back with a hurt groan. His dazed eyes fall to me, foggy with incoherency and bliss that I stole away from him. The red of his gaze has molten with desire.
"You're mean," he mutters.
"Am I?" I swing my leg over his lap and straddle him, and both of his hands instinctively find home on my thighs. He's so naked, and I am still so clothed. I caress his cheek and tilt my head with a pout. "Am I mean to you, Miguito?"
He leans forward to rest his head against mine. My fingers card through his hair. My other hand drops down to where his erection presses against his heaving stomach, and he flinches when my touch brushes against his leaky tip.
"So mean," he reinforces through a quiet moan. His grip tightens on my hips and he lifts his head to send me a desperate, frazzled look of brief clarity. "We can't. If I can't stop- we haven't gotten your patch-"
I smile softly and stop his ramble with a kiss. My palm resumes its strokes, and his whimper escapes into my mouth. I press kisses along his chin.
"I'm not gonna fuck you, Miguel," I say, and his head drops with a growl of frustration. I pull his chin back up and nip his earlobe. "When was the last time you had a mouth on your pretty cock?"
His breath hitches, and then it stops completely.
I preen beneath his frozen stupor. My hand drops from his hair to grab his elbow and kiss my way up his sore arm, and his hips arch into my grip on his dick. He's reanimated, this time with vigour.
"How's your arm?" I ask quietly.
"The last thing on my mind right now," Miguel breathlessly admits. I giggle, though continue in my care.
My fingertips cross between the bulbs of his palm and press up his tendons. Like squeezing on the paws of a cat, his talons extend. I kiss each of their bases, run my thumb along their sharp, skin-coloured edges when I nip at the skin from his wrist and down his arm. If he won't love himself, then I will.
But Miguel is not a patient man. He can be, if he's the one in control, but when he isn't he thrashes, and my promise has only made it worse. His gaze darts all across me, never settling. His legs shift between poking his knee in the air or laying out on the bed. His hands roam incessantly, tugging out of my grip to comb through my hair or brush his fingers across my hips. He's waiting for the real show to begin.
I gather his wandering hands in mine and press them to his chest.
"Lie down, mi vida," I order through a hum. He does as told, resting onto the duvet without breaking eye contact. My palm lifts from his slick cock and, without removing my gaze from his, I bring it to my mouth to lick the pre-cum from.
Miguel's eyes widen. His pupils bloom with lust. He shifts beneath me, the rocking of horny impatience, and pulls my hips further into his crotch.
"Ay, coño, coño," he slurs. "Por Dios mío."
"You're so big, mi amor," I whisper. My hands splay across his chest and follow the edge of his pectorals. I can feel his heart racing. "So big and strong and beautiful."
"Please," he whimpers. "Oh, Y/n, please."
"Not yet." I shake my head and drag my fingertips down to his abs, reverberating with his breath. "I want to have a little fun, first."
Miguel drops his head into the pillow with a despairing groan.
I push myself back on his thighs and admire his splayed, vast body. His dark skin is littered with the pale, thin slashes of battle scars, and I take my time to adore each one, to drag my lips along their lines. My fingers leisurely trace his ribs, his hip bones, admiring the strength of him beneath me.
"Muy bonito," I whisper against his stomach. I peek up at him, at the sharp planes of his handsome face. "Do you know how pretty you are, Miguel?"
Miguel's hand rests in my hair as he watches me worship his body through lidded eyes. "Nothing in comparison to you," he murmurs roughly.
My smile is sweet. I lean up to kiss him, and he chases my lips with enthusiasm. Smooth talker Dr. O'Hara strikes again. My teeth snag his bottom lip and I tug, and the sound that comes from his throat is serenity itself. Now I'm starting to get impatient.
I kiss my way down his neck and chest, dragging my fingers along his skin. His breathing grows more erratic the closer I get to his straining cock, before stopping completely when my hand slides around its slick base and lightly squeezes.
My gaze flickers up to Miguel. He watches me, still aside from his heaving chest, as my fingers glide around his base and brush across the tops of his balls.
My ministrations stop. "Are you just going to stare?"
Miguel snatches my hair swiftly. My eyes close, and I smile at the ache his tight grip gives.
"Por favor," he whispers, and winds my locks around his fingers, "por favor."
"That's better," I praise, and resume my careful touches.
He hangs his head back and shakily sighs at my slow caress. I purse my lips and blow air against the pink, glossy tip of his dick, and Miguel jerks violently. A string of curses slip from his mouth. My stomach flutters.
"Amor, you're so pretty," I murmur. My hand glides up and my thumb rubs across the new bead of pre. "And you fuck me so good, too. You work so hard, don't you? You protect so well."
Miguel's black eyes peek open to stare at me. His face is dark with blush and want, and I keep staring at him as I press my lips to underside of his head. I revel in the way his lips part with a gasp.
"My poor Miguito, mi amiguito," I hum. My hand pumps his entire length now, and he sinks deeper into ecstasy with each slow stroke. "You don't even know how to relax, do you?"
"I'm feeling pretty relaxed right now," he breathes.
"Good," I purr. My tongue draws from the base of his cock to the tip, and my body shakes from how guttural Miguel's groan is. It sounds like it came from the very depths of his soul. I have to hear more of it.
I part my lips and slide his thick head onto my tongue, into the wet heat of my mouth. His grip tightens in my hair and makes tears sting in my eyes, and he shudders at the way my whimper rolls against him. His stomach contracts and clenches with the effort to be still.
"Ah." Miguel lifts his head and stares at me with a mouth gaping with bliss. I squint my eyes at him and take his cock as deep as I can. He moans another beautiful cry.
He's so loud when he's being pleasured, and it stokes my ego like crazy. I suck on his dick, dragging myself along his stiff length, and palm the rest of him that I can't reach. His hand in my hair guides me into the rhythm he craves.
"Muy bien, muy bien." Miguel shudders when my tongue swirls around him and my cheeks hollow until he's touching every corner of my mouth. "Está muy-" he gasps "-chingón."
I don't want to remove myself from him just to respond. I hum instead, and he gasps at the vibrations of my throat that tremble through his cock. The slight saltiness of his pre-cum sits at the back of my mouth and sends my head spinning.
My pussy aches from the lack of attention. I clench my thighs to relieve it, but it only enunciates the fact that it's untouched.
"You're so good to me," Miguel blabbers. I let my teeth gently gently glide up his skin, and he almost passes out. "Ah! Ay, coño, te- te amo, te amo."
I can't take it anymore. I shift up onto my knees and take my hand from his thigh. Miguel lifts his head at my movement.
"Wh- what are you-?" he stops himself when he notices my fingers unzipping my jeans and sliding beneath my panties. His eyes roll to the back of his head. "Por Dios mío, remind me to annoy you more often."
The laugh that huffs through my nose is cut short with a gasp when my fingers glide against my clit. It thrums beneath the attention it's finally receiving, hyper-reactive. I struggle to keep myself from melting.
"I'm- I'm close," Miguel warns. He swallows thickly. "Where do you-?"
I stare him dead in the eyes and clamp myself possessively around his cock. Miguel exhales shakily. That's all the answer he needs.
I'm already so pent up that it doesn't take long until my core's tightening from the rolls of my fingertips. Miguel's getting close, too, judging by the way he's repeating my name in an incoherent string of syllables. I up my game; rolling my hips into my hand, squeezing the base of his cock and sucking so deep that I'm almost gagging.
Miguel's reaction is as explosive as it is instantaneous. He bucks from the bed with a glorious cry of my name like he's calling for God, and I nearly choke on his length as he's attacked by the throes of intense bliss. My mouth fills with his cum and I swallow each rope of it swiftly, the sour, metallic taste urging my own end.
My orgasm is a quick, violent pinch of pleasure that has my body stiffening and a moan erupting around Miguel's softening dick. He lets out a broken whine at the sensation and shudders fully, helpless beneath me.
My mouth releases him with a wet 'pop' and I slump, pulling my hand out of my pants and resting my forehead on his hips as I catch my breath. I cup my raw throat and clear it with a wince, and watch as Miguel drapes an arm over his face and tries to calm his panting.
I crawl up to his side and slump onto the mattress tiredly. His red gaze peeks at me, drowsy, still rolling on the high. I press my face into his warm shoulder.
"You've finally stopped fidgeting," I tease in a hoarse voice.
Miguel smiles dopily. He pulls me into his chest and rests his lips against my hairline. "You're too perfect."
I sink into his affection blissfully. "I know."