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Miguel groaned, holding his side as he shoved his back against the bathroom door, slamming it shut. The noise reverberated throughout the room and he cringed. It did nothing but anger his headache, forcing him to grit his teeth. Goddamn shocking super senses, he mentally cursed, pushing himself off the door with a grunt. Just shut down for once. Let everything be normal again.
With an amount of effort he would never admit to, Miguel stumbled to the sink, gripping onto the edge of it with half unsheathed talons. He glared back at his reflection in the mirror; twisted and grim. Raising one hand to wipe the trail of blood from his lip, he sighed and stared at himself. Some Spider-Man he was. Sure, he had advanced healing, but his wasn’t anything near as strong or quick as the other Spider-People’s. You couldn’t even call it “super” healing, or at least he didn’t.
Miguel cringed as he washed his bloody hand off in the sink. The water ran a pinky-scarlet down the drain, making him scowl at the sight and scent of it. It was a sight of something that should never happen. Spider-Man didn’t get beat up. Spider-Man didn’t get tossed around by some alternate universe villain-of-the-week like some sort of dog toy. And Spider-Man most definitely didn’t hide away in the bathroom out of sheer humiliation.
But here you are, Miguel told himself, tightening his grip on the smooth granite countertop. Some leader of the Arachno-Humanoid Poly Multiverse you are. Can’t even take a damn Prowler on your own. Needed help. Got your ass kicked. Miguel closed his eyes at his cynical thoughts, willing them out of his head. He growled lowly, roughly pulling his hands away from the sink before he opened the cabinet in the mirror.
He paused, catching another good glimpse of his terrible looking self. His hair was misplaced and frayed; his skin bruised on the cheeks and eyelids; his lip and chin cut and bleeding; a sore sight in every way possible. Miguel tensed, resisting the urge to slam the mirror and break it into a million pieces that he’d just have to clean up later. Instead, he stepped back from the sink and dug his talons into his palms, quickly drawing blood.
Exhaustion set into his body. He didn’t know if he wanted to shout and berate himself or collapse into the tub and pass out- hidden from the rest of the Spiders for the rest of the night. Yeah, throw a tantrum, maldito bebé . That’ll really make you feel better.
Miguel grit his teeth as a jolt of pain from his side hit him again, reminding him of the hard kick to the ribs he’d endured earlier. He dematerialized a small portion of his suit and grimaced at the sight of his skin; darkened with bruises and dried blood.
“ Mierda. Why can't this just heal up already,” he cursed aloud, letting the suit materialize again to cover the wound out of sight.
He let out a shaky breath as he sat himself down on the toilet lid, slouching as much as he could before the all too familiar sting in his ribs hit him again. This fucking sucks, he thought grimly. Miguel held one hand to his side and one over his eyes, massaging his temples. The pain mixed with the smell of blood and the brightness of the room was all too overwhelming. Super senses were nothing but trouble to Miguel. He was already overly sensitive to that kind of stuff before the DNA splicing; it was just painfully overwhelming now.
Miguel caressed his forehead, almost not hearing your cautious knock on the door.
Almost.
“Miguel?” you called out softly, putting your hand on the door handle. “I know you’re in there.”
Miguel said nothing back. You glared at the door and knocked again, this time with a little more force behind it. “I can sense you in there. You ran right off the second we got back. What’s wrong?”
“… Estoy de un humor, ” he muttered.
“ Eso no es excusa ,” you replied with a small grin, “you don’t just run off. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine!” Miguel snapped, his voice muffled through the door.
Silence enveloped the two of you for a moment longer than both of you were comfortable with. You gently fiddled with the doorknob, realizing that it wasn’t even locked.
Pushing it open just a crack, you lowered your voice as you spoke, knowing you had to tread carefully around Miguel. He was basically just a feisty chihuahua when he got like this; something that silently amused you. “Miguel? I’m coming in.”
“You’re not giving me a choice?”
“No,” you answered honestly, gently pushing the door open just enough to slide in. You closed it behind you and dropped your gaze low. “You’re obviously upset, and we both know you’re too proud to ask for help.”
“I don’t need help,” he said.
“Miguel, estimado ,” you scolded gently, “you’re sitting on the toilet like an injured puppy and pouting more than usual, which is hard to believe in itself. Come on, what’s wrong? You’re hurt?”
Miguel scowled and relented. He stood up as he spoke, clearly uncomfortable. “How did you know I was in here? It wasn’t just spider sense.”
“Yes, you’re right. Lyla actually told me where you were as soon as you got back.”
“Lyla? Of course she did. That shocking-”
“Hey. Just focus on us,” you told him, reaching out to gently grab his wrist in your hand. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m not-”
“I’m not an idiot, as much as you like to call me one,” you joke, hoping to raise his spirits while still staying strict.
Miguel huffed as he pointed to his ribs, dematerializing his suit from the waist up. Your eyes widened in sorrow as you saw the state of him. Slowly- as to not upset him- you came closer and ghosted your fingers over the bruise that stained his ribcage. You drew a breath of relief at the lack of reaction from him, knowing it meant that it was a serious injury. A painful one, yes, but nothing was broken or sprained. Just one terribly bad bruise.
You ran your hand over the rest of Miguel’s torso. It was an action you’d done many times, though in more intimate ways before. But who’s to say this wasn’t intimate as well? You traced a soft thumb over the thick scars underneath Miguel’s pecs as you had countless times in the past. It seemed no amount of healing factor could erase them; not that either of you were complaining. Matching scars of beauty the two of you shared.
You sighed softly, admiring the discoloured skin before you moved on. With a small grunt, you placed your hands under his armpits and motioned to lift him up. Miguel smiled faintly; that kind of faint grin that couldn’t even be really called a smile by most people, but you knew it’s intention. He stood up as you requested and looked at you questioningly, cocking his head slightly.
“What are you doing, tonto ?” he asked, his expression flat but not angry or upset.
“You think I’m just going to let you stay all bloodied up like that? Not to be rude, Miguel, but you don’t look your best right now. You’re in no position to shower yourself, so I’m going to help.”
Before he could reply, you shook your head and shushed him, continuing your explanation. “I just want to help you. It hurts me to see you like this. Just let me take care of you, Miguel, please. Stop being such a proud leader for a few minutes and let your boyfriend take care of you.”
Miguel’s eyes widened slightly as he dropped his gaze. “ Pensé que querías que yo fuera tu marido, ” he muttered.
“You know I don’t know what you just said,” you rebuke with a light laugh, waving your hands to shove him into the tub. “Now get in there. At least let me wash your hair.”
Miguel looked characteristically annoyed by the attention, but you knew he was secretly enjoying it. It made you feel happy being the only one able to do this with him- for him. It had taken a while, but the two of you had gotten close, and you wanted nothing more than to be near him. You took his hand and helped him step into the tub, squeezing the pads of his fingers. You grinned at the sight of his talons coming out like cat claws.
Before Miguel could speak again, you raised his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles, frowning slightly at the purple bruises that littered his skin. Miguel grimaced as you let his hand go.
“Wanna take the rest of your suit off, Itsy?” you asked him, leaning over the tub to reach the shower head.
“ Carino, don’t call me that,” he muttered. Despite it though, he dematerialized the rest of his suit and sat naked in the tub.
“You’d rather I call you Little Spider? Or Bitsy? Or what about just Love ?”
Miguel turned his head away after casting you a playfully annoyed glare. You smiled warmly, shaking your head at his embarrassment. You’d seen him naked countless times before over the months. Seeing him like this now wasn’t anything embarrassing for either of you. It was intimate and loving, and right now you wanted nothing more than to take care of him. He’s so tense all the time. It’s like he’s never learnt to relax before, you thought lovingly.
Taking the shower head, you ran the water stream over your hand to make sure it wouldn’t irritate his wounds or headache, and brought it to his back. He sighed softly as the warm water hit his skin. You brought a gentle hand to his messy hair and ran your fingers through it, following through with the shower head. The soft moan that escaped Miguel’s lips made you falter slightly. You felt your face heat up- and not just from the steam coming into the bathroom.
You kept wetting his hair, making sure to not spill too much water over his eyes. The tension seemed to seep out of Miguel like a curse, leaving behind only calm and serenity in its wake. He relaxed so much at your touch that he even closed his eyes, resting his chin on his knees. It didn’t take too long to rinse out his hair, but every moment and action felt as if it were in slow motion for the both of you.
If you could, you wouldn’t mind taking care of him like this every day you possibly could. You tousled his hair with a small giggle, reaching for a bottle of shampoo. Being sure to turn off the water, you let the shower head dangle in the tub as you began to massage the shampoo into his scalp. Starting from the top and working your way to his sides and back, you caressed him with careful strokes, not wanting to accidentally hurt a wound that may be hiding under this dark hair.
“You seem peaceful,” you joked quietly, twisting a strand of his hair around your finger.
Miguel muttered something incomprehensibly under his breath in reply, it trailing off into an almost whimper. You giggled and leaned closer to him, your torso hanging over the edge of the tub. You continued to lather the soap into his hair with the gentlest of touches you could manage. He deserved only that. There was something almost silly about the sight before you. The strong and tall and handsome Miguel O’Hara turned into a sighing mess under your soft touch. Nobody would ever believe it if they walked in on the two of you. You paused before shooting a web to lock the door to the wall, just as an extra precaution.
When your hands came back full of white suds, you nodded at your work and reached for the shower head again. Rinsing off your own hands first, you pulled Miguel’s head backwards so as to not let the soapy water run over his face, and got to work cleaning the shampoo from his hair. It ran a thick white into the drain and over his shoulders and back. You hummed softly as you rinsed, scratching your hand through his hair like you were petting a dog. That’s what he is. An unruly little puppy.
Miguel’s wet hair stuck to the sides of his head and covered his eyes. You carefully swiped it behind his ear, leaning forwards to give him a quick peck on the cheek as you did. Miguel suddenly looked straight at you and grabbed your wrist. You paused in shock as you were- rather roughly- yanked into the bathtub with him.
You yelped, splashing the tile with water as you fell face first next to Miguel, legs still dangling halfway inside and outside of the tub. You hear him laugh and fight with the now loose shower head, struggling to grab it and get it under control. Coughing your lungs out, you push yourself up on your hands and glare at him. Your entire shirt and torso are soaked, but that doesn’t stop him from casting you a grin.
“Miguel!” you shout with a giggle as he sprays the shower head at your face. You yank it away from him and turn it off, resting your hands on his knees as you lean over the tub.
“ Así no es como suelo mojarte. ”
“Shut your sexy mouth and get back to being pissy.”
“I was never pissy ,” he counters.
You smirk at him and look down at his naked body. “If you wanted me to join you in there, then you just had to ask.”
Miguel tilted his head back to welcome you in, looking more relaxed than he had in the past few days. “Then I guess you should undress too. Though, your clothes are already soaked. You’re so clumsy.”
“Clumsy? You just- whatever. You’re such a smart ass.”
“Call me that again,” he said with a joking tone.
You rolled your eyes and leaned in just enough to kiss him on the lips, making sure to steady yourself on the edge of the tub so he wouldn’t pull you in again. Through the kiss you could feel Miguel smile. You smiled with him. Your hand found its way to the side of his sharp cheeks as you pulled him closer to you, not wanting the kiss to end.
“Say the magic words and I’ll join you in there like you want,” you muttered.
“Please?”
“And?”
Miguel feigned a sigh and kissed you again quickly. “I’m sorry for getting your clothes all wet.”
“Good spider.”
And before Miguel could protest the nickname, you were already kissing him again, silencing any rebuttal his smart brain was going to make.