patched up - NSFW
miguel o'hara x peter b parker (spiderdads)
interact on ao3 too if ya wanna :)
tags: hurt/comfort, anal fingering, anal sex, blow jobs, miguel uses his talons, service top peter, bottom miguel
summary: miguel gets hurt saving peter so he takes care of him… and other stuff
!! MINORS DNI !!
“Miguel! Hey, wait a second!” Peter yells, ripping off his mask, at the taller man after stepping through the portal back to headquarters. Miguel was a few steps ahead of him, gripping the arm that he had just used to plow his body through a large chunk of concrete flying in Peter’s direction to knock it off course.
“Let go, Peter,” Irritation plaguing Miguel’s voice as he tried to pull his arm from Peter’s grip.
“No…because what you did back there was stupid!”
Miguel’s jaw tightens and yanks his arm free, “I did what I had to do.”
“Man, seriously, you realize we’re all unnaturally strong, right? Even if it did hit me, I’m sure I would have been fine!” Peter argues, crossing his arms.
“You don’t sound too confident,” Miguel quips as he pulls up the screens from his desk.
“Shut up, I… are you not going to treat yourself?” Peter notices that Miguel lacks any urgency to tend to his injuries, instead returning his focus right away to work on maintaining the multiverse.
“I’m busy, I’ll do it later,” He brushes him off, swiping through different anomaly reports.
“Miguel-” Peter touches his arm and Miguel hisses in pain. He retracts his hand immediately, stepping around Miguel’s body to get a better look at him. “You’re bleeding,” Peter says, noticing the light from Miguel’s suit reflecting off of the blood streaming down his face and chest.
Miguel breathes sharply, “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Peter sighs and looks around the room, “Don’t you have first aid around here?”
“Peter, I-”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. Do you really expect me to just go home knowing that you’re sitting here like this because you wanted to save me?” The man remained stern in his voice, refusing to lose the unnecessary argument that wouldn’t be happening had Miguel just trusted him.
“I can do it myself, Peter,” He scoffed.
“Okay…lift your arm then.” Peter challenges, knowing that Miguel is unable to do what was asked. “That’s what I thought, now show me where you keep your stuff.”
Miguel huffs, stepping back from the hologram monitors, and opens a portal without a word. Peter trails behind and finds himself in the middle of a small, dark apartment. He catches Miguel’s frame disappearing into a room and follows him into a bedroom that doesn’t appear to look lived in at all and flips the light switch. Miguel sits on the edge of the bed with a quiet groan and gestures to the dark bathroom across from the bed.
“Under the sink,” He says, dropping his hands onto his lap. Peter walks over to the bathroom, digging through the cabinet, and collecting the first aid supplies before returning to where Miguel sat.
Peter lays everything out across the bed sheets next to Miguel and removes the gloves from his suit, “Alright, take off the mask.” He stands in front of him, almost completely level with Miguel’s sitting form.
Miguel keeps his gaze aimed away from Peter as he touches his watch, deactivating his mask and the upper part of his suit. The top of his head was a mess of curls that blocked Peter from getting a proper view of his injuries.
“Look at me,” Peter urges and quickly regrets it as he finally takes in the damage that Miguel had taken to protect him. His face was littered with cuts and splotches of dirt mixed with blood. It followed down to his chest where the skin was almost split open, he would need stitches to close them. Peter’s eyes move back up to his, “Shit, Miguel.”
Miguel stays silent and closes his eyes, “Can we just get this over with?” Peter snaps away from his staring and gets to work on cleaning Miguel’s face from the blood and dirt with a wet towel. He’s sure not to press on the skin too much to avoid hurting him. Though, the disinfecting would undo any of that effort as Miguel’s face twisted in pain. Peter quietly apologized and kept moving. The cuts on his face were not too deep, only needing a few small bandages. Peter cringed as he now turned his focus to Miguel’s chest. He shifted onto his knees between Miguel’s legs to work easier. Repeating the process of cleaning and disinfecting but now with the added step of sewing Miguel’s skin back together. Peter was no expert at it but he’s sewn his fair share of wounds in his twenty years of being Spider-Man. Granted they were always on himself, having to sew someone else up somehow hurts worse.
Peter failed to notice Miguel taking in the concentrated look on his face as he braced himself for each prick of the needle under his skin. Peter cut the last of the thread and sat back to look over his work. Satisfied, he stood and took another clean, wet towel to wipe off the rest of the dirt and blood that stained his body.
“How’s your arm?” Peter asked, wiping the last of the dirt from under his eye.
Miguel sticks his arm out slowly, the muscle shifting and tightening, “It’s okay, just sore.”
“You don’t have to protect me like that, y’know?” Peter sighed as he mindlessly rubbed away at the blood that stained the skin on Miguel’s collarbone.
“I know but I…” Miguel trailed off, debating if he should answer truthfully.
“Hm?”
“Mayday shouldn’t have to lose a father…” He mumbled quietly but not a word escaped Peter’s ears as he halted his movements with the wet towel.
“Don’t say that, Miguel,” he stayed silent. “Look at me,” Miguel doesn’t move and keeps his head facing his lap. Peter lifts his hand, hooking a finger under Miguel’s chin and pulling his face upward. “You were an amazing father and you deserve to be here,” he stays quiet, feeling the warmth of Peter’s hand against his face. “Say it for me.”
“What?”
“Say that you deserve to be here.”
Silence.
“I’ll wait here all night if I have to.” Miguel takes a deep breath, he knows that Peter isn’t lying. He has the patience of a saint.
“I…I-I deserve to be here.”
“Of course you do,” Peter smiles gently, still holding Miguel’s face. Were we always this close? He’s so tall, his head reaches my chest when he’s just sitting down. Something in Peter’s chest writhes under his gaze. It couldn’t hurt, right? I mean, it could, he could easily send me straight through the wall. He raises his other hand, adjusting both to cradle Miguel’s cheeks in his palms. Brushing his thumbs across his skin, battered and bruised, feeling them grow warmer as he stares back into Peter’s eyes.
Peter leans forward and by some grace of God, Miguel doesn’t pull back. His breath shakes as the distance shrinks. Miguel’s nose presses lightly against his cheek as their lips finally meet. It’s a tender little thing, slightly dry from their bodies exerting themselves during battle. His lips are softer than he imagined during all of those late nights when he couldn’t sleep. Peter almost doubts himself from the lack of response and is about to break the kiss when Miguel sighs against his lips. A hand lands on his hip, pulling him closer, and deepening the kiss that Peter reacts to immediately. Miguel’s mouth tastes of the dirt that found its way through his suit mask but he doesn’t mind it. He’s sure he’s not any better. Something brushes at the seam of his lips that catches him off guard for a moment. Peter leans into it, opening his mouth to let Miguel’s tongue intrude on the space there.
The hand on his hip pulls him forward as Miguel lays back on the bed. Peter climbs up between his legs, trapping his body with his hands framing his waist. Miguel hums into his mouth, tongues pressing and gliding past each other, swallowing the other’s noises before they make it into the open air.
Peter breaks the kiss first, trailing his lips down Miguel’s jaw and onto his neck. He bites at the skin there and revels in the low whine that tumbles out from the other man. Peter pecks at the faint, blooming bruise, his breath fanning across the damp skin, “Is this okay?”
Miguel nods, pulling Peter closer by his waist with his good arm, and feels the hardening heat in his pants against his own. Peter gasps and holds back a groan as he dips his head back down. He captures Miguel’s nipple in his mouth, rolling the bud gently between his teeth. Miguel’s head falls back onto the bed, his hand moving from Peter’s waist to tangle fingers in his hair. A sharp moan escaped his lips as it suddenly became Peter’s mission to pull as many of those noises from Miguel’s throat as possible. He bit down on the bud again, another moan, and a buck of his hips against his own. Shit.
Peter repeats the assault on his other nipple, earning more noises spilling from Miguel’s lips. He feels nails scratch at the back of his head as he kisses carefully down his stitched and sore torso. Settling on the ground at the foot of the bed, hot breath ghosts over the clothed bulge between Miguel’s legs.
“Can you turn it off for me, baby?” Peter asks and looks up at Miguel, massaging gently at his hips. Miguel shudders a breath and reaches his hand to wave at his watch, deactivating the remaining suit. The rest of his body inches into view, his sculpted thighs framing Peter’s shoulders and begging to be dug into with his nails. He brought his focus back to the hard, red-flushed cock twitching and standing at attention. He was leaking already after being given such little friction. Peter wraps a hand around him at the base and slides it up to the tip, gathering the precum with his fingers. The motion pulls a soft moan from Miguel, the muscles in his stomach tensing as his hand continues to stroke him agonizingly slow. Peter pulls Miguel’s hand from where it’s twisted up in the bedsheets and places it on the back of his head as he leans forward to hover his mouth over his cock. Peter stares up through his eyelashes, locking eyes with the larger man.
Holding eye contact, Peter takes him into his mouth, sinking down completely in one fell swoop. Miguel gasps, his thighs tensing and squeezing around Peter’s head trying not to thrust further into its wet warmth. He held his mouth down until his throat spasmed, forcing him to pull off. Peter breathes heavily as he licks a stripe over the vein along the underside of his length and sucks the head back between his lips.
“Madre de Dios, your mouth,” Miguel pants, staring down at Peter sucking sweetly around his cock. He bobs his head slowly, the hand in his hair guiding him, and holds their gaze. Peter set a steady pace, hollowing his cheeks and drawing out long moans from the injured man above him. Miguel hissed through his teeth before dropping his jaw in a groan, twisting his hand in Peter’s hair.
“Stop…stop,” Miguel pants, batting weakly at Peter’s forehead to get his mouth off of him. He obliges, pulling off of him with a wet pop. “Peter please,” he begs, his pupils blown and clouded with desire.
“Do you-“ Peter starts before getting cut off.
“Bottom drawer,” Miguel points at the nightstand a few feet away. Shuffling over, Peter pulls a small bottle of lube from the drawer. He stands and looks over to Miguel and takes in the sight. His heart pounds proudly in his chest seeing Miguel’s hair disheveled and the glistening sweat beading across his chest. Peter resumes his position above Miguel on the bed to capture his lips once again. He licks into his mouth easily, forcing him to taste himself from his tongue. He plants short kisses across his cheek and neck before sitting up. After readjusting Miguel’s legs, Peter squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up before slipping his hand down between his legs. The pad of his finger presses past the rim of the tight entrance and Peter takes note of Miguel’s reactions: eyes closed, brows furrowed, biting his lip as a small whine bubbled in his throat. He throbbed in his suit, which was beginning to feel overwhelming. It didn’t take long for Miguel to open up, his body practically swallowing down each finger to the hilt making him moan at a higher pitch as they curled into his prostate.
“You're gonna be good for me, let me take care of you,” Peter leaned forward to kiss softly under Miguel’s chin, feeling the plush walls clench around his fingers. “You like that, huh?” He laughs under his breath, scissoring the three fingers he had buried in the man, who failed to bite back a faint whine. His attempt failed worse when Peter removed his fingers, his face twisting into desperate disappointment.
“You’re still sure about this?” Peter asks, planting a kiss just under Miguel’s ear and pulling back to face him.
“Yes, sí por favor- te necesito,” Miguel pleads, trying to lean up closer. A hand is gently placed on his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.
“Easy, just relax,” Peter’s hand drags down over the wounds as he sits up to reach behind his neck to unzip his suit. He stands for a moment to pull his clothing off completely, feeling eyes on him when his own cock springs free from its confines, and takes the lube in hand before crawling back onto the bed. He spreads a generous amount along his length and lines himself up with Miguel. He locks eyes with him once again and breathes as he pushes in past the rim. One of Peter’s hands guides his cock as the other grabs hold of Miguel’s thigh while he gasps, his muscles swapping between tensing and loosening. “You’re so tight, fuck,” Peter moans, inching deeper and pushing past the walls that pulsed around him. After a moment, their hips froze as they finally met, cock buried to the hilt. Miguel groaned at the stretch, not once expecting the size Peter was hiding under his suit. He felt like he was being split apart in the most mouthwatering way possible. Desperately wishing that he wasn’t as hurt as he was so he could be taken like he wanted to. Face-down and entirely as his mercy. But this was perfect too.
Miguel reached his hand out for Peter, gathering him in his arms, and practically stuck his tongue down his throat as he waited (im)patiently for his body to adjust. Peter complied, their lips moving in tandem. He rocked his hips slightly to test the water, the kiss broke as Miguel moaned into the space between them.
“You okay?” Peter asked, their lips brushing.
Miguel nodded, “Keep going…please.” Without a second thought, Peter pulled his hips back and drove into him, punching out another groan. His hand tugs a leg up onto his waist and buries deep into him with shallow thrusts. Peter moans and presses his face into Miguel's cheek, propped up on an elbow with talons teasing the skin of his back.
“You can hold onto me, it’s o- shit!” A sharp pain fired across the expanse of his back, white-hot, and went straight to his hips. Peter gripped Miguel's thigh tighter and thrust forward roughly but it didn't go without appreciation given the noise that rose high in Miguel's throat. Blood trickled down his back as he put more effort into milking out every moan from the man under him. Sitting up further on his elbows, he adjusted his hips, pulled out most of the way and thrust back in. Miguel threw his head back against the blankets, digging his talons deeper into the skin.
The crease between Miguel’s eyebrows smoothed away as he submitted himself to the pleasure, his voice, along with wet slapping skin, filled the room.
“Oh god, Peter,” Miguel moaned and bit his lip, drawing specks of his own blood with his fangs. The pace wasn’t overwhelming but it was enough to start turning the hot coil in his core. However, he may have thought too early as Peter braced himself and thrust into him at almost lightning speed. Sitting back, Peter grabs onto Miguel’s hips and keeps his pace but now with the added sensation of his cock driving right into his prostate. Peter watches Miguel’s eyes roll back as his voice dissolves into whimpers, his hips trying desperately to meet him while being held down to the bed. “Así, así, Peter- ah,” he moaned under his breath, mouth slack, fangs peeking out, drool dripping down his cheeks from the corners of his mouth. His hands dropped to the bed and he dug his talons into his own palms. Peter panted and groaned, rolling his hips and grinding into his prostate.
Peter slows down slightly, falling forward with hands moving from Miguel’s hips to pin his hands next to his head. Heels pressed harshly into his backside, drawing him deep. He stares down at Miguel, whose eyes are closed. Peter releases a hand to cup his cheek, wiping the spit away with his thumb.
“Look at me, Miguel,” Peter demands, squeezing their locked hands. Miguel opens his eyes, locking with Peter’s once again. “Let go for me, baby,” Peter whispers, his thrusts are precise, hitting at the perfect angle and speed. A few moments pass before he feels Miguel flutter around him and succumbs to his orgasm, fighting desperately to keep his eyes open. White sticky slick coats his stomach and chest, the talons of his free hand flying to sink into his waist. Peter finishes with a grunt shortly after, riding both of them through their orgasms. He leans down to kiss Miguel, tasting the small amount of blood in a mess of tongues and spit as he comes to a still. He coats small kisses across his cheeks, nose, and forehead before pulling away. They stay in silence, only listening to the sound of them catching their breath. Peter sits up, pulling out gently, and buries his desire to push his cum back in as it leaks out. Another time.
He gathers a small, clean towel from the medical supplies that are still laid, scattered, across the bedsheets and begins to wipe clean the white substance from Miguel’s skin as well as the blood from his own. They both would need a shower at some point but they had a long day, so Peter cleared the bed of the supplies and urged Miguel to climb under the blankets. Peter scoots in after him and curls the larger body into his chest, running his fingers through his hair and occasionally planting small kisses on his forehead.
A hand trails down to smooth over the fresh stitches along his chest, “I need you to promise you’ll never do that again,” Peter whispers, images flashing behind his eyes of Miguel lying on the ground, groaning in pain as he tried to get up on his own.
“I would but we both know I would be lying,” Miguel tightens his arm around Peter’s plush waist and nuzzles into his neck, “You deserve to be here too, Peter.”
