Work Text:
No one could sneak into the penthouse. It just didn’t work like that. It had been more than a few weeks ago Peter had found that out for the first time. It didn’t matter how good of a Spider you were, the place was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. And Peter wasn’t even sure if Miguel knew what that meant.
The penthouse was an extension of Miguel’s office and lab to some extent. Peter didn’t think a lot of the Spiders realized it, but they were effectively working for Alchemax, at least a subsection. That was how Peter understood it. It didn’t take a lot of looking around to find out that one Miguel O’Hara was the working CEO of Alchemax on E-927. He had been for years. At least that explained where the money for everything came from. And why he had the most advanced security, it wasn’t just to keep nosey Spiders out, it was to keep out any want-to-be assassins or villains away.
The cameras were something more than infrared, or colour, they broke you down to your codes. Sure the Go Home Machine needed to see your retina, but these things didn’t. They just knew. It was pretty chilling to think about, that at a glance Miguel could know everything about someone. Chilling, not unexpected.
All that to say, Peter did not think he should have made it this far without getting a warning. He expected to step into the hallway and hear his name, Miguel’s voice full of warning, maybe a growl. Only, there was nothing of the sort. The camera followed him down the hall, they were obvious, Miguel did nothing to hide them, turning to follow Peter as he stepped up to the door of the penthouse. It had a number and a hall. Unusual for a penthouse. Like Miguel moved it, or the rest of what was there no longer was. Maybe this was where the temporary housing was? Was this less of a penthouse and more of a sectioned-off apartment? The building was so twisted and sectioned it was hard to tell. It was a web that only Miguel could navigate.
He wasn’t even being interrupted by Lyla. Something felt wrong. Something was wrong, he was missing something. Because Miguel was home, he had seen him come up. HQ was “shut down” for the night, but that didn’t mean Miguel was done working, it just encouraged the others to leave, it needed working hours after all. But, Miguel had gone up to his place, it was unusual, out of place. It wasn’t the only thing, Miguel had not been himself. His snappy and sarcastic nature was there sure and anyone that didn’t know him like Peter did might not have seen anything. But Peter had known him for nearly as long as the whole Spiderverse thing was going on. He was there from the start. He was the one who people assumed, correctly, was the closest to Miguel. Jess and Ben knew him. But Peter saw more because he looked more.
It didn’t matter. Something was off. Miguel had spent the day, nearly scratching his forearms. Pulling back quickly anytime his hand actually made contact. Thinking about it, when his arm made contact with anything. The behaviour was out of place, Miguel’s anxieties went to his teeth or his claws, not to his - spinnerets.
Peter pushed and the penthouse door swung in. It was everything he expected. Bland. Minimalistic, whites and greys. Heavy blinds over windows that spanned floor to ceiling, making the place dark. The only colour was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch. A warm red, soft under his hand as he rested it there. Everything was silent.
Peter hadn’t expected to hear anything, but then, he had expected the door to be locked. Bolted. To give him an electric shock, something. So maybe music would have made more sense. He felt like he was about to walk in on something he shouldn’t. Was Miguel expecting someone? That would explain the lack of alarms and the unlocked door. He should just leave before he gets caught.
Maybe he missed something, overlooked a glance or some words. Maybe… he wasn’t who Miguel was interested in. Maybe he had gotten so caught up in his own thoughts that any positive comment thrown his way was misunderstood. That didn’t seem right either. Miguel didn’t touch people, never had from what Peter could tell, and didn’t like being touched either. But he let him. A hand on his back or a bumping of arms would have Miguel pulling back from anyone else. The sharing, the offering of food, or help, or anything. Miguel didn’t do the bare minimum for anyone, he went above and beyond. But, maybe with his rose-tinted glasses, Peter got a more gentle feeling when Miguel did things for him.
He thought of how many Spiders had been tossed over the behemoth’s shoulder to get them away when they were hurt. An arm around them. But, an arm around his waist, a squeeze, the gentle pat as he had been set down. The way Miguel had cradled his jaw, lifting his head. He swore he had seen fear, and worry in Miguel’s eyes. Sure he worried for all the Spiders, but there was more behind the intense red when he looked at him.
He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. He was fine, just a couple of broken ribs, and Miguel had growled. Worry and fear melted into something else. Annoyance maybe, but softer. Peter chose to think of it as endearment. Maybe he chose to think a lot of things that weren’t true. He should go. This place wasn’t for him, the unlocked door was an oversight of a too-worn man or for a visitor yet to come.
A too-worn man. Peter stopped at the door, looking back into the open living space, the kitchen, all cold fake stone, metal, chilling tones. Could he just leave if his sense was right? The door wasn’t left open for someone he didn’t want to think about. Was it open for him? Did Lyla see him coming and unlock it, letting him in to see the cool and unwelcoming space Miguel spent what little free time he gave himself?
Everything stopped.
Frozen Peter felt his Spidersense crawl up his back. Like a pair of nails running along his spine and into his brain, it’s wrong and wholly unpleasant. But, it’s not danger. Something is wrong sure, but there is no attack, no enemy he has yet to see or hear. But he had stopped, his breath held, eyes looking around, frantic, trying to see anything that could be setting him off. He touched the door, no, it’s not static. He stepped back in, the sense still going, leading him further into the space. It didn’t grow more welcoming, but he could hear sound now. At least he knew Miguel is alive. Not that that had been a fear until the thought came to him.
A heavy door in front of him, open only a crack. The floor inside is carpeted. But the space is nearly black. He blinked to adjust his eyes, but no, it is just black, painted that way. He listened, breath held to not be given away.
Huffing growls from beyond the door. Miguel. He would know the gruff noise anywhere, only, not here. For a second he thought he had intruded and come in on something he really should not have, that he has stepped in on a quiet moment. Time Miguel very much needed alone. But the sound wasn’t… right. Not that he would know what Miguel in pleasure would sound like, he’s only had his imagination. But it sounded like it hurt. It was pain, like the time in a fight Miguel had fallen from a building, rough, pained breathing. Muttering, angry, frustrated.
Peter’s fingers curled around the door, slowly easing it open. Knowing he was intruding, knowing he was breaking some sort of trust. Knowing Miguel could not sense him there, could not see him as he opened the door. Miguel’s back to him. He was sat on his bed, blankets pulled up around his waist, supporting his back as he sat hunched forward. Deep red sheets. The bed was stunning, all too fitting to the teasing vampire name. But, that was not Peter’s focus. Instead, his eyes watched Miguel’s hand.
Arm resting palm up on his leg, finger splayed out each one shaking. Peter had never seen Miguel without sleeves, or even seen them rolled up like this. Pushed above his elbow, the soft skin of his forearm exposed. Peter had seen them through his suit. Unlike so many other Spider-people who had to create synthetic webbing, Miguel’s were organic, more than that, they were part of him. Leaving bulges in his forearms where they grew. That was what Peter was looking at.
A towel laid over the arm Peter could see. His hand pressing, moving slowly forward. Each movement pulling those pained sounds from him. Water dripped down to leave wet marks on the pants Miguel wore. He had walked in on something he was not meant to see, something no one was. It wasn’t a quiet moment of stress relief, of pleasure that could make Peter’s cheeks burn. It was a moment of vulnerability. That made the unlocked door all the more terrifying. It showed just how out of his head Miguel was. He would have never left himself open had he had his head on straight. Peter couldn’t leave him, couldn’t just sneak out and leave locking the door behind him. His friend needed help.
If he would allow it.
Peter pushed the door, knuckles hitting it to alert Miguel to his presence. He watched the man bristle, his claws catching in the blanket as he jumped to his feet. It was like staring down a big cat. Claws, fangs and all. Miguel was dangerous. Miguel was vulnerable. There was fear deep in his eyes, while anger bubbled up all around the rest of him, teeth on full display, shoulders tense. Peter could almost hear the growl. He watched Miguel swallow. Neither speaking. His claws retracted and Peter stepped forward. Hand gentle on the door, Miguel’s eyes never leaving him.
He knew better than to talk. Closing the door behind him, turning his back to the other. He heard him settle back onto the bed. The soft sound of blankets moving. He was sure neither of them thought he could ever be so silent. He toed off his shoes and joined Miguel in the bed, palms up, silently asking for Miguel’s arm. As if he knew what he was doing. Like Miguel hadn’t been the one doing this for what must have been years.
Peter knew he had natural spinnerettes. He hadn’t thought of why he rarely saw them used. Miguel used web shooters, digitally programmed, and controllable. They were whatever he needed. At any point he needed them.
Sitting knee to knee, Miguel offered his arm. Peter tried to forget the way his arm shook as it was offered. That would never be brought up, that was to be forgotten and left to the silence of the room. The arm in his hands, Peter pressed his thumbs to one of the bulges and watched the way Miguel’s hand flexed. Tense, strained. He took the towel, placing it over the arm he was not working on. His hands so slow, so careful it was as though he was not moving. One wrong move could have him bitten. At least it felt that way. It wasn’t true.
Peter began massaging his thumbs into the toughness until it began to release. His hands were strong and resilient. After years of just being Spider-man, it made his hands able to do some very impressive things. He guessed this could be added to the list. Breaking apart whatever sort of blockage may be stuck in a Spider’s spinnerettes. He didn’t consider what really he could be fixing, but he is just following what he had seen Miguel do. If more effectively since he was able to use both hands. Each press gained him a breathy sound. As he worked, loosening up the muscle and the actual webbing, it sounded as though it hurt less and less.
Miguel’s breath was on his neck. A heavy head rested against his shoulder, their bodies nearly entwined. He was sure he could feel wet on his shoulder, and the shaky breath felt as though Miguel was crying against him. But, he continued to say nothing. There was nothing to say as his fingers worked their magic. He had worked down Miguel’s entire forearm, the towel moved into his lap. The webbing that he pushed out was like no webbing he has seen. It was not so shocking to see why Miguel used synthetic. Or, maybe, this was because of it. Whatever the cause. The webbing was bad, too soft, it didn’t stick, Peter compared it to chalk sometimes and bad milk others. It was not good. But, one arm was done. Miguel’s arm left red and sore. He slung it around Peter’s shoulder and offered him the next.
Peter took it without hesitation. There was no reason not to. The slight growing ache in his hands was worth it to bring comfort to Miguel. Someone had to. And Peter was more than willing to be that person. After so long, so many months of knowing him, Miguel asked for one thing, and that had been respect. With all things considered, he deserved it and did not get enough. The man held the weight of more than one dimension on his shoulders and refused to share it. For just one moment, for however long Peter may be allowed, he wanted to relieve Miguel of needing to do one thing alone. He wanted to help. So he showed Miguel with a gentle touch that he was there.
Slowly working his other arm, easing out the bad webbing. Hands firm, gentle. Each movement caring. Sentiment put into each touch. He was sure Miguel was crying by then. His chest heaved and Peter could hear him swallow. But, he didn’t make him stop, didn’t even ask him to. Not the softest sound of protest. And Peter would have stopped, they both knew it. At any second, at any sign from Miguel, Peter would have.
The sign never came. Peter holding Miguel’s arms with the care of someone with a baby bird in their hands. Something with fragile bones and no ability to leave. When Miguel was anything but. Peter had compared him to a big cat, and, he was much closer to that than a spider. Size and demeanour pointed to it, but the webbing Peter eased out of his arms showed otherwise. He was just as much a Spider as any of them, more in a lot of cases. No one knew Miguel’s story, not really. He didn’t share it. Peter always wondered why, but he felt like he knew why. He had been there. Not for his origin or the moments each Spider shared, but he had seen his daughter. Or who could have been his daughter, watched the love in his eyes. And every ounce of happiness drain from him the moment she was gone. This was just something small to give back.
Peter just wanted to show that he cared. That despite all that Miguel felt he had lost, someone was still there for him. The weight was too much for one man, and Peter would never ask to take Miguel’s place, and Miguel would never make him take it. But, the least he wanted to be allowed, the least he wanted to show was that he could take some of Miguel’s own weight from his back so the weight of the unlimited dimensions could be held just a little easier. If Peter could ease one pain, he could ease another. If Miguel didn’t hurt so much, maybe others could take some of the brunt.
And when he was finally done, both spinnerettes’ webbing extracted, Peter let Miguel lay down, and in return, Miguel let him stay, let him see him so shaken, so vulnerable.
Peter didn’t say a word as he stepped out, and he hoped Miguel knew he would return. Tossing the towel in the washing machine, he hoped it wouldn’t ruin it. He grabbed a new one and opened Miguel’s freezer, pulling out a bag of frozen vegetables. He learnt it from Aunt May, but more recently, MJ used it on him. A bag of frozen veggies fixed nearly any ache. At least for a time. They helped. He knew they helped. He came back, opening the bedroom door slowly again, and felt his heart ache at the sigh he heard, relief washing through Miguel at the sight of him still being there. He hadn’t left. He wasn’t alone again.
Carefully Peter climbed up into the bed, only then realizing how high off the ground it was, and how soft. The blankets felt perfect, cool to the touch, and so soft they had to be down. He came up to Miguel’s chest, coaxing him to roll on his side and offer back out his arms. Peter placed the towel-wrapped vegetables on them to ease the sting and bring the inflammation down. His hand went to Miguel’s hair, clinging to his forehead in sweat, and brushed it back out of his face. The man’s hands flexed. Claws in and out, breathing evening.
The look Miguel gave him was so soft like there was no hardness left in Miguel’s eyes. He signed, an arm moving out from under the makeshift cold pack. His hand was large against Peter’s cheek, his thumb running just under his eye. Peter’s mouth fell open a little, but again, he stayed quiet and waited until Miguel spoke first.
“Come,’ He tugged a little, fingers catching in Peter’s hair, and Peter moved easily. Leaning down till he was right at Miguel’s face as he rolled onto his back once more. “MJ wouldn’t mind will she?”
“Are you kidding? You’re my hall pass.” Peter smiled down at him and felt his fingers tighten around the back of his neck before Miguel let out a single breath of a laugh, and pulled him down.