Man the plot really just keeps growing
An absurd amount of shirtless Mig in this one idk guys just the way it goes ig (I am completely sane)
TW: no goddamn minors I just had to block someone for reading the adult chapters while being underaged I'm not fucking kidding with this okay I'm genuinely so mad don't test me I don't give second chances alr
"Ready?" I ask.
Miguel nods. I rest the needle gun against his shoulder and pinch down on the trigger. The thick needle slices through his flesh. The vibrant, green serum is shot from the vial and into his arm. I pull the gun away and place it back in its holder for sterilisation.
Miguel expels a breath from his nose and rotates his shoulder. We're in his home lab after having just dropped Rosalina off at school, and I'd offered to be his lab assistant when he informed me that his next shot was needed on the drive home. His DNA succumbing to the spliced spider genes still happens quicker in this reality than he's used to.
He leans back in his chair and sighs with relief, and my hand automatically reaches out to thread my fingers through his thick, dark hair to further soothe him. His bare, scarred, almond-tanned torso swells and falls with each slow breath. His shirt's slung across his thighs.
I watch the serum work its (scientific) magic in real time; his pinprick pupils dilate back to normal size, the tense line of his shoulders slacken, his teeth stop grinding and his expression relaxes. Miguel looks as though he's just stepped into a hot spring on a chilly winter's day. My worry is soothed.
I press my lips to where I'd injected him. Kisses make all booboos better according to Rosalina's intensive scientific knowledge, and who am I to disagree? His red eyes, softer than they were just moments ago, drift to me in amusement.
"Gracias, cariño." Miguel brings his hand up and touches my chin with his fingertips affectionately.
"De nada," I hum, and kiss his bare shoulder again, before lifting my head and kissing him properly.
He doesn't need to reach up far to kiss me despite his sitting and my standing, but even the subtle height I have on him, even just the slight way in which his eyes have to lift to mine, makes me shiver with delight.
He places one hand on my cheek, the other on my hip. My knee drops to the chair between his thighs. My lips part into the kiss, and the heat of his mouth mingles with my breath. If it weren't for pesky human needs, I'd kiss him forever.
Miguel snatches my wrist when my touch begins to slide down his pec, over the small bulb of his nipple, and drifts towards his Adonis belt. He pulls my struggling fingers away from himself and breaks our kiss to send me a pointed look. I gasp for breath.
"We need to get to work," Miguel reminds.
"Lyla just told me that the patches arrived," I say airily, suggestively, and use my free hand to ghost my nails up his neck and slide them through the locks at the base of his head.
Miguel shudders, blissed for a second, before sharpening his focus and grabbing my other hand, too. He reaffirms that pointed look from before with emphasis as I pout.
"That's great, but I have a multiverse to look after," he says. He yanks me closer by our linked hands and grins. "So stop trying to get into my pants, tentadora."
I tilt my head. "I'm not trying to get into your pants, though. I'm trying to get you out of them."
"Y/n." Miguel tugs me even closer with a chuckle. My forehead rests upon his. "I'm serious. I'm distracted enough as is."
I hang my head back and groan. "Fine." I bring my knee from the chair, slide my hands from his, and lean against the lab bench with my arms crossed. "Let's go to work and be boring, I guess."
Miguel slips on his shirt with a small smirk. I watch forlornly as his beautiful skin is hidden from view. He peeks up at me, the red of his eyes spliced through black lashes, and settles the hem of his shirt over his hips with deft flicks of his hands.
"You're adorable when you're needy, hermosa," he drawls. I roll my eyes.
The Spider-HQ is quiet today. There's no new anomalies detected so most Spideys remain in their own realities to deal with their own normal-world villains. Even Jess and Peter haven't come in.
I spin myself in circles on my desk chair, bored out of my mind. I have writer's block on my current project and nothing seems to be clicking in my brain, so no juices are flowing, so no ideas have sprung. Miguel plays sentry on his tall platform and curbs his fidgeting by squeezing a hand grip.
It's a stupid report to get stuck on, too. The subject is Spider-Man, it should be easy. I'm just having trouble not making it too intimate. It's hard to pretend not to know someone - and it's even harder when said someone is the father of my daughter and wakes beside me every morning.
My socks stop my spinning and my hands fly across my laptop's keyboard. The clacks fill the silence, covers the low drone of machinery.
Tall, dark and handsome. Annoying. Egotistical. I squint my eyes and tap my nail on the mousepad. Fantastic in bed.
My index holds backspace. The incriminating words are erased.
"Miguito." I hang my head back with a groan. "What do you do for writer's block?"
Miguel keeps squeezing his hand grip and watching his realities. "I'm not a writer."
"Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically, I don't know."
"That's a first," I grumble under my breath. Miguel shoots me a narrow-eyed look from above and I return it with an innocent smile.
I struggle silently for another twenty minutes before admitting defeat. I shut my laptop lid with a groan and drop my head onto it for good measure, too. Then I groan again, because I really am fucked if I can't get this piece done.
The quiet sound of Miguel's feet hitting the floor makes me turn onto my cheek and watch his approach. My hair is a mess. I feel a mess.
Miguel rests a fist on my desk and tucks my hair from my face with gentle amusement. "¿Está bien, amor?"
"No estoy bien," I grumble pitifully. Miguel smiles sympathetically and strokes my hair, and it feels nice but I'm still deep in the pits. "I've forgotten how to write." I turn my face back into my laptop and whine. "Why was I ever hired?"
"Oh, cariño, you're being silly," Miguel says soothingly. My disagreement is muffled by plastic. "You are. I think it's you who needs a break, now."
He scoops my frowning face from the laptop lid and pulls me back into my seat. My head lulls into his stomach with a whinge.
"Do you want to go to the cafeteria?" he suggests as he strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. At my disinterested harrumph, he tries again. "You could always shove a mask on and I can take you someplace new?"
My eyes slowly open with intrigue. "... what kind of place?"
Miguel grins down at me, triumphant in my turn of attitude. "Somewhere that I know you'll love. Y/n showed it to me."
Well, if this world's Y/n loved it, then surely I will, too. The whole 'biting kink' thing was direct proof that our tastes are the exact same.
"I'm game." I lift myself from the seat and spin to face Miguel, leagues happier. "Where are we going?"
Miguel smiles smugly, like he knows that whatever he's about to say is going to completely floor me. "How does a diner on the moon sound?"
And he's right. My jaw drops. "You're taking me to the moon?"
"I am," he says, and pulls off his shirt.
I'm even more startled now, and need to drop back onto the seat by the way my knees give out. I get a moment to shove my shock aside and appreciate the view before his torso is covered by his Spidey suit. My gaze lifts back to his face.
"The moon," I repeat incredulously. Miguel pulls me to my feet and holds a hand to the small of my back to steady me as he leads us down the long, dark hall of the station.
"The very one."
"There's a diner on the moon?" I ask.
Miguel chuckles at the wonder in my expression. He grabs a mask from one of the many cupboards of gear (blue and red, like his own) and pulls it over my head - but stops just over my nose.
"Why don't you wait and see?" he says coyly, and skims his lips against mine. He pulls the mask down my chin before I get a chance to lock him in for a deeper kiss.
'Waiting and seeing' turns into an forty-minute ride in a self-driving car up a steep bridge that shoots straight into the stratosphere. I spend the entire drive gawking out the window, watching the other hover-cars zip up the bridge in a speed that should've killed anything mammalian.
Miguel keeps glancing at me, my reactions far more interesting to him than the scenery. I'm bewildered when the bridge stops and we drive into the glass-domed, bustling city of the goddamn moon.
A city. On the moon.
"You colonised the moon," I whisper, equal parts amazed and horrified as I digest the view. It only took us forty minutes to get from Nueva York to the moon's arrival hub. That's the drive from my home to work.
"I didn't, personally," Miguel says. "But the resorts by the Sea of Tranquility make for a nice romantic weekend."
My god, he fucked on the moon.
He snickers at my expression that must be easily readable even through the mask. His amusement grows when I splutter at the 'Welcome to Lunar City, capital of the moon' sign. What an unoriginal name.
It takes another ten minutes of Lunar City traffic to get to our destination - a small diner sandwiched between two office buildings. It's orange and decorated to look like Mars, of all things. It's a singular pop of colour in the otherwise white, pristine city.
I stare up at it as we step onto the bustling sidewalk. The car drives off. Monochrome pedestrians flow around and between us, and shamelessly ogle. Besides the diner, we are the only other splash of colour in this entire place.
He's right. I immediately love it. It gives me a little more hope that there's people out there who actually enjoy colour in this reality.
I glance up at Miguel and find him already watching me. "It's colourful."
His crescent eyes squint with amusement. "I know."
"It's orange," I say again, unreasonably excited. "Orange."
He blurts a chuckle at my reaction. "I know, cariño."
I look around in amazement when Miguel holds the door for me. The interior is colourful, too, shades upon shades of oranges and yellows and reds. It's like retro 60s vomited everywhere - it's all sitting booths and tall milkshakes and neon lettering and checkered flooring. There's a jukebox in the corner. I adore it already.
The back of the diner is a milkshake bar with stools sitting white-clothed patrons. Miguel takes my hand and guides me towards it, where he orders for us while I continue to gawk.
I'm still stunned when we leave with our takeaway bags (that are orange!). Before I can ask why we left such a spot instead of staying to bask in the glow of colour, Miguel pulls me close by my hips and shoots a red line of web to the rooftop of one of the café's tall neighbours.
He hesitates, kicks himself out of autopilot, and looks down at me.
"You trust me not to drop you, right?"
I nervously eye the building's height. His thumb strokes my hip in circles, and it's almost distracting, but not quite.
"I dunno," I hesitantly say. "Have you ever dropped anyone before?"
Miguel cocks his head. "Not unintentionally."
Jesus. He's so domestic with me that sometimes I forget he's a vigilante. I send him a half-perturbed look and he sheepishly chuckles, red half-moons squinting, and then I think sometimes he forgets I'm more mundane than he is. We're not quite well-balanced.
But he's Miguel and I trust him wholly, so I wrap my arms tight around his chest. My nervous nod gives him the all-clear.
Miguel's grip on me turns to iron. His legs bunch, and then he leaps and hauls himself up by the web with dizzying strength and my stomach is abruptly left behind. He scales the wall with the talons of his free hand digging into the white concrete, and his muscles tense and harden beneath me with inhuman effort.
My heart's stuck in my throat. I can't look away from him despite the fear telling me to close my eyes. He's beautiful, he's terrifying. He really is more beast than man.
Miguel makes it to the top of the building and sets me down onto my feet. I wobble, as he expects, so he holds my waist to give me time to reorient. I stare at his spider symbol and try to calm my racing heart.
My eyes raise to the glass dome above us. The horizon falls quick, the curve tighter than earth's, and the moon's haze is silvery and thin. I'm glad Miguel's holding my waist, because the amazement sucks the balance right out of me. I pull off my mask with a whisper of his name.
We stand on a tiny rock floating in a space full of stars. The Milky Way shoots right overhead, a line of glistening galaxies that wink around us. They feel so much closer. There's so much.
"Do you like it?"
I tear my eyes from the view and look at Miguel. His mask has fizzled down, and his expression is genial and adoring as he watches my face. The glow of the moon illuminates him; his lashes, his hair, the planes of his face. His eyes, so red, so soft as they stare at me, hold the reflection of the universes. His suit gleams gently.
He's a beast. He's angelic. He rivals the stars themselves.
"It's beautiful," I breathe. My hands are enticed to drop the paper bag and my mask and raise to cup his silver-lit cheeks instead. "You're beautiful."
Miguel's face heats beneath my chest, flustered by the utter sincerity that drips from my words. His grip on my waist tightens. He leans down to rest his forehead on mine.
"Te traería las estrellas," he murmurs. So quiet, so gentle, a vow for my ears only. I melt completely and utterly. My heart doubles over.
My feet lift so I can kiss him, and kiss him I do; vehemently, entirely. I love him so much that it's all-engulfing. I love him so much that it startles me, and I'm speechless by it. I love him so much that all I can do is kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.
We kiss - and on the moon, would you believe it? - and I wish that I had the ability to stop time so we could just exist here and hold this feeling of perfect forever. But time moves on and lungs need oxygen, so I drag my lips down his chin and part them to breathe.
His exhales flutter my hair. His heart beat thrums beneath my palm. I let my lips linger against his chin, because parting from him seems too cold, too cruel. I need to have all of me touching all of him. I need it biblically.
"I love you," I whisper between gasps. I lift my eyes to Miguel, to where the stars halo his messy hair and kiss-blissed face, and I break all over again. I caress him like he's art. "I love you, Miguito."
He nuzzles into my palm, lashes fluttering over his smouldering gaze. "Thank you for letting me love you, cariño."
If I could bottle up all this love I'm feeling and keep it forever, I would. I let myself bask in this pool of devotion as we sit, entwined, my leg over his, on the rooftop beneath the never-ending night sky. We pull out our treats from the diner; Miguel's icing-covered cupcake and my blueberry muffin. It's always so adorable seeing a guy who looks like him eat such sugary treats.
He points out the earth, which is just beginning to peek from around the building beside us. It's far away and almost impossible to comprehend - it looks so teeny but so gargantuan. It's a blend of blues and greens and shadows and light. It's gorgeous.
And when we finish eating, Miguel presses kisses up my arm - one, two, three, more and more - tiny gifts of affection, and my heart trills with each one. His lips continue kissing over my shoulder, along my collar, adoration seeping from every pore. It's not even on my skin and yet it burns through the wool of my cardigan. He sets every part of me aflame.
"I knew you'd love it here," Miguel murmurs as we stare at the ocean of constellations above us. My head's against his chest. His fingertips draw designs on my stomach beneath my shirt. "See? My world isn't so bad."
I roll my eyes with a smile. "Was it her favourite place?" I ask.
"It was." The designs stop. "Is it yours?"
"I think so." I hesitate for a second before turning onto my side so I can look at him. "This place... it doesn't give you sad memories? Like my lake?"
Miguel blinks at my question before returning his gaze to the stars, contemplative. His fingertips rake lines across my belly. I shiver beneath his feather touch.
"... it's bittersweet," he answers slowly. "I'll always be sad. But I cherish them for what they are." Miguel sends me a small, grateful smile. "And I have so much to be happy for, now."
I kiss his chin. My hum is soft. "I think Miguel would love it here."
He gives me a sweet look. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I rest my head upon his chest again and look back to the stars. "And not just this. All of it - the Spider-HQ, the tech, the multiverse. I think he'd especially love Peter."
Miguel scoffs. "I find that hard to believe."
My bit continues. "I think he'd replace me. I think they'd fall in love."
"You're so full of shit, cariño."
I laugh. "You're so mean!"
"Yeah, I'm the mean one," he grumbles half-heartedly. He grins when I smack his chest in retaliation.
"Let me bask in our date in peace," I demand with faux sternness. "It's the best one I've had in a long time."
Miguel's suddenly and entirely interested. His brows raise.
"Really?" he asks.
My smile is smug. "I suppose you could say it's-"
"No." Miguel closes his eyes in exasperation. He already knows where this is going, what trap he's fallen for.
"- out of this world." I grin shamelessly at him. Miguel's resolve breaks and he drops his head back with a disappointed snort.
"Santa Maria - you're terrible," he accuses, and then laughs at me when I laugh at my own joke. "It's not even funny, it's just bad!"
I can't stop my giggles. I struggle to catch my breath and calm down, and every attempt to is swiftly foiled. It's the kind of laughter that you'll stop and then find yourself laughing again - uncontrollable, stomach-aching - and it's infectious; Miguel laughs along.
"Stop laughing at your own joke," he huffs between chuckles. "You're not that funny."
I try to explain that I can't stop laughing, but my words keep getting swept away with my next expel of giggles. I'm weak against him. He holds my weight and shakes his head in exasperation.
Miguel turns to the next best resort of quietening me - he pulls my head up and seals my lips with a kiss. I laugh against him still, but it's sucked back into my chest when he hauls me onto his lap. I barely feel the dull ache of my knee hitting the concrete on the other side of his thighs, too swept away by his venomous, mind-numbing kiss.
His hands roam my sides as he kisses me fervently, sliding beneath cotton to feel the skin of my waist, my back, my ribs. His palms leave lines of fire in their wake, and it makes my head feel like it's full of sand. My mouth chases his. My hands tangle in his hair.
"Now you're quiet," Miguel hums. I'm too lost to respond.
I ache for him again. I plead for him through the whispers of his name that he swallows, and his shuddering, his tightening grip, the way he eagerly slides his tongue into my mouth when I open for him; he's shattering. The resolve from this morning no longer exists. He tastes of sugar and sin.
"Fuck," Miguel spits when he parts to catch his breath. His lips find my neck, his palm my bra, and he squeezes me while sucking a mark into the sensitive spot on my skin. My gasp is shrill and full of yearning. My stomach heats and twists.
We're not alone enough, we're wearing too many clothes, but still I rock my hips into his lap while the cosmos stretch overhead. His groan comes from the back of his throat, pleased and wanting. Desire shivers through me.
"We should get those patches, Mig," I whisper earnestly against his hair. "We should get them right now."
His teeth - fangless - sink into my neck and I arch into him with a hiss. He holds out an arm to shoot a web at the ventilation box behind us and uses it to haul himself to his feet with me locked in his hold. His hand returns to my ass to mould the flesh through my jeans, massaging, kneading until I'm supple against him. My legs squeeze his slim, solid waist, looping at the ankles. My arms sling around the red, glowing shoulders of his suit.
I input the coordinates to his home with shaky hands, gaze fuzzy while Miguel nips and mouths at my neck. I hold my chin away from him with a breathless gasp of his name, and the portal opens behind him, reaching out with its red fissures, tingling me atomically.
Miguel walks backwards. He hits the wall of his hallway hard, and he grunts at the impact and his teeth nip my skin a little too sharply and I choke back a yelp. The portal closes, and the wooziness of teleportation leaves me tumbling even further down the slopes of delirium.
"Verga, verga," Miguel seethes beneath his breath. He turns us and I'm roughly pinned to the wall with a gasp. His thigh presses tight between my legs, holds my weight, and his shaking hands feverishly yank my shirt up and over my head. "You're gonna ride my cock until you can't speak, alright, babygirl?"
My body feels like it's turning inside out with anticipation. I preen beneath his promise, shift myself against the thick muscle of his leg and gasp when it hits the right spot.
"Yes, yes, Miguito-" my murmurs hitch when his thigh shoves tighter between my legs. I tighten them around his waist. My head hits the wall with a whimper. "All yours, baby, I'm all yours."
"Mine," he hisses. His deft fingers unclasp my bra and pulls the straps down my arms with a ghostly touch that leaves me shivering. It drops to the floor. There's a feral, voracious edge to his eyes as he stares at my heaving boobs. "All mine."
My hands thread through his hair and bring him to my chest. He responds with eagerness, digging his face between my tits and marking the valley of my sternum with nips and sucks. My breaths are short and thin, coated with ecstasy as I watch him. My hands tighten in his hair. My hips rock against his thigh.
"Coño," Miguel snarls, and his fingers tighten into bruising grips upon my hips. His lips latch onto my nipple and I buck into his mouth with a gasp before being stilled by his iron grip. He lathers his tongue in circles, kneading with his teeth. My fingers trace the designs of his suit, the planes of his strong shoulders, admiring, adoring, and all the while I roll my hips against his.
A firm knock on the door makes us flinch. "Miguel?"
My body runs cold with shock at the unfamiliar voice of a woman. Dazed, Miguel lifts his head from my breast and glances up at me. A string of saliva connects us.
"Miguel, are you home?" the woman asks again. The fogginess of his red gaze sharpens with realisation. "Stop avoiding me - I know you're avoiding me!'
Miguel rests his head onto my chest. "Me lleva la chingada," he complains under his breath.
"Is that her?" I whisper. He slowly nods. I huff, a mix of disbelief and fury - both for Dana showing up and at being interrupted. "What do we do?"
Miguel rises and sets me onto my feet. He cups my cheeks with a serious look. "We move to the bedroom," he whispers.
A dumbfounded smile pulls at the corners of my lips. It swiftly falls when a thought occurs to me. "Mig, the patches."
He pauses, then grits his teeth with frustration. "The patches."
"Miguel, I can hear you!" Dana exclaims through the door. "I want to talk!"
"Just thwip and grab it!" I insist, and mimic the action of shooting a web. "Super fast!"
"I can't," Miguel denies, voice shrill and quiet. "She'll see. She doesn't know who I am."
"Do you at least have any condoms?"
"They'll be expired by now."
I cover my face with my hands. "Miguel."
"We never use them, why would I buy more?" he defends.
"Is this birth control?" Dana asks, horrified. "Are you seeing someone? Already?"
"Tell her to go away!" I hiss.
"I don't want to talk to her!"
I send him an incredulous look. "Miguel, grow up!"
"You think I was kidding when I said she was a nightmare?" he whispers, frazzled. "¡Ella muy loco!"
"She's gonna keep being loco until you tell her to leave!"
Dana knocks again. "Miguel, I know you're there! Open up!"
"Fuck- go!" I urge.
Miguel holds his face and makes a sound of frustration. He webs my shirt into his hand and passes it before pushing me towards the wall.
"Wait!" I stop him before he can open the door. Miguel glances at me and I gesture to his chest, where his Spidey suit still boasts its symbol.
He stifles a groan and drops the suit from his chest to his waist. The pants shimmer to white. Between that and his distressed hair, he just looks like he came back from an intense Zumba session - though I sincerely doubt he'd ever have taken Zumba. Maybe it'd be good for him.
I mean, he'd look like that if his lips weren't swollen. He'd look like that if his dick wasn't in the beginning stages of rising to attention. I close my eyes and fight the ugly feeling of his ex seeing him like this - it's a sight that should be for me only.
Miguel opens the door before Dana can knock it down. I'm hidden, wedged between the door and the wall. I slip on my shirt as slowly and quietly as possible.
"Dana, what are you doing here?" Miguel asks wearily.
I peek between the gap of the hinges and find a petite woman with short, black hair standing with her arms crossed. She's dressed in the classic monochrome fashion of Miguel's world, and does a double take upon seeing his messy, shirtless appearance. I remind myself to breathe normally.
In one hand is a white box. She lifts it to Miguel with a scoff.
"Do you mind telling me what this is all about?" she asks curtly.
"I mind." He snatches it from her grasp before she can pull it back. Her face twists up at him unpleasantly. "I told you to stop coming here. Go home."
Dana's expression darkens. She crosses her arms and stares up at him with a shitty look.
"You're the same as ever," she says lowly. "You just keep on building walls. You won't let yourself get close to anyone."
But he does, I reason, and have to grit my teeth to keep myself from speaking aloud. You just never gave him the chance to take them down himself.
"What are you doing now, huh?" Dana continues, and tries to peer over his shoulder. Miguel subtly inches the door close. "Fucking some random chick you barely know? It's not difficult if you don't have history, right?"
"I broke up with you five months ago, Dana," Miguel says icily. "I don't want to hear your philosophical bullshit."
"You said you didn't want to have sex because you were still hung up over Y/n," Dana accuses with a laugh. "Not anymore, apparently! You're all cured!"
"Dana, please, just leave," Miguel says with waning patience. I press the back of my head into the wall and silently groan, sharing his irritation. My slick panties are starting to feel uncomfortable and chilly. My arousal is draining fast.
"You were going to marry me!"
"And you broke off the engagement six years ago," he reminds. "I moved on. You haven't."
"You didn't move on from her," she hisses. "And now you're playing around with some whore? Is she here?"
I can taste Miguel's tension through the door at the insult. He's silent for a second, before releasing his rage in a sharp exhale. "No."
"You're such a liar!"
I run my hands down my face. Miguel was right. She really is a nightmare.
It's killing me that I have to stand here and listen, but I'm legally dead and I sincerely doubt that Miguel's ex-fiancée will be as forgiving about our whole situation as Gabriel. Depending on how much she might hate me for 'taking Miguel away from her' or whatever bullshit she'll spew, she could even report us. I'm imprisoned by the need to be silent.
"Ay por Dios," Miguel groans. "Dana, you've got to move on. This is insanity, do you realise that?"
Calming thoughts, Y/n. Puppies frolicking in a field of lavender. Soft, fluffy clouds rolling over a slow morning sky. Rosita, fast asleep and cuddled into Miguel's chest.
"I just- I still have feelings for you, Miguel, and I know what you need." Dana's voice turns soft with hope, and she takes a minuscule step forward. Jealousy sets my stomach on fire. My nails bite into the bulbs of my palms. "You need someone to remind you of the good days. Remember our good days?"
I stifle the urge to step out from behind the door and clock her in the face. Possessiveness rears its ugly head and snarls at her encroachment; Miguel is mine. He's mine.
I'd heard enough from Miguel and seen enough just from this conversation alone to get an idea of what kind of person Dana is. She's strong, but in the steadfast, unmalleable kind of way. She doesn't have any give. She's the kind of lover that expects and expects and doesn't reciprocate.
Miguel is a workaholic perfectionist who grew up entitled, unloved and exploited. He needs give. He needed time to grow and settle into his own skin without being puppeteered by the hands of his youth, without being moulded into someone else's expectations. He needed to be pointed in the right direction and supported.
And he had been, but not by Dana. He'd had all that by this reality's Y/n, just like how I'd done that for my Mig. And I support him and point him still, just as he does for me. We're each others compasses.
"I have someone who I'm making better memories with. I love her," Miguel says, and his voice sounds soft but there's a vicious finality to his words. "And she's not you, Dana. Go home. Don't come back here again."
He shuts the door before she can respond. I watch him slump against the hallway wall opposite me with a mighty sigh of weariness. I bite my lip with a sympathetic frown when his tired gaze finds mine, lidded with weariness.
"Nightmare," Miguel murmurs. A tiny smile pulls at my lips.
"Nightmare," I echo quietly. "Are you okay?"
He runs a hand down his face and shrugs. "God, can you imagine if I'd married her?"
"I don't want to," I say curtly. I push myself from the wall and cross the small space to lean against his bare chest. My palms cross his skin, the heat of him making the frostiness of Dana's unexpected interruption melt away. "And you don't have to. I'm not letting you go anywhere."
Miguel's irritated expression softens. "You can keep me shackled to your side forever, amor."
"Good," I hum. I press a line of kisses up his scarred chest and peek up at him coyly. "Where were we before we got so rudely interrupted?"
Miguel's lips lift into a crooked smirk. He brings up the box of patches and tilts them towards me with his long, thick fingers. I take it from him with a smile, and his touch slips beneath my shirt to trace the shape of my hips. My need for him to throw me onto his bed and take me returns just as swiftly as it had left.
His fingertips slide beneath the waist band of my jeans, brushes the tops of my thighs. My breath is shuttery as I lean into him and read the box's instructions. It's hard to, though, when he begins to attend to my neck with open-mouthed, wet kisses. It's even harder when he begins to rub his cock against my hip.
My soft look is swiftly drained away with despair. "Mig..."
"Yeah?" he hums.
I drop my arm with the box to the side. "There's a six day wait period."
Miguel pauses his kisses and lets my words sink in. "Six days?"
"Six days."
He lifts his head to send me an agonised look. "I don't think I can wait six days. I don't think I can wait six minutes."
My gaze turns down to where he's already stretching through his suit-turned-white's pants. I'd far rather have him stretching me out, but I'd also far rather play safe. I'd already had one surprise pregnancy, I'd rather not have another. Besides, I know lots of ways to play safe.
My hands drag down his thighs as I drop to my knees. Miguel's breath hitches when he realises what's happening, and he gasps sharply when my lips press against the side of his half-mast erection. I glance up at him when his hand rests in my hair and find him watching me with eyes blown wide with anticipation.
"I guess we'll just have to get creative," I say.