Spiderverse: Smile Log
(Read on AO3)
Rating: Gen
Summary: “Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.” “Lyla-” “And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-” “Lyla, no-”
Peter B. asks an unexpected question and gets some information he really shouldn't have.
Wordcount: 1478
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Oh, Miguel is fully aware of what the other Spiders think of him. Feral this, stick in the mud cabrón that - but for putting up with extended exposure to the Earth-616 version of Spider-Man for the six months that his little experimental society has existed? They should be calling him a shocking saint.
The Peter in question continues to hang off his shoulder, where he’s been since he swanned into the monitoring room ten whole minutes ago without an invitation. “-stay with me on this, I’m building to a point here - hello? Earth to Miguel?”
“What,” he snaps.
Peter pouts, an expression that he honestly didn’t think grown men were capable of until meeting this guy. “Did you hear anything I said?”
Easy. “No.”
And anyone who was, you know, sane, might take that as the insult he means it to be, but Peter just laughs and jostles his shoulder companionably. “You really are a grump sometimes, you know that? You gotta lighten up, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack one of these days.”
“Tell me about it,” Lyla says from his other shoulder. She likes Peter, talks to him directly more than any of the other Spiders, and she’s programmed to gather information that she thinks he wants, which means - yeah, he’s going to go ahead and ignore the implications of that one.
Peter makes a thoughtful noise. Concerning. “Hey, Lyla, you’re around this guy twenty-four-seven, right - does he ever relax? When’s the last time he, I don’t know, smiled?”
Miguel expects a snarky reply, not Lyla’s glasses flashing opaque the way they do when she’s looking something up. “Hm, let me check. Pulling up a smile log…”
He’s focused on the latest multiverse model, like everyone else should be, so it takes him just a bit too long to realize that they’re ganging up on him. “Wait. Lyla, belay that-”
“Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.”
“Lyla-”
“And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-”
“Lyla, no-”
“And - aw, this one’s cute! - after a mission he helped a girl get her runaway balloon and she hugged him-”
“Lyla!” he snaps, slamming a fist onto his desk, and she finally stops. “Por dios, would you quit that? Why do you even remember that stuff, it’s a waste of storage space!”
She sticks her tongue out at him. “My data, my business.”
“Yeah, yeah, can’t you just run the scans like I asked you to and stop causing trouble?”
They keep bickering over the new extrapolation methods, and Peter -
Okay, look. Miguel doesn’t have a “spider sense” or whatever seems to warn the rest of the Spiders before anything happens, so he has to rely on his own judgment. And with Peter being around all the time, Miguel’s learned to more or less tune him out, figures it’s the only way he’s ever going to get any work done.
Which is more or less why he doesn’t notice that Peter’s still there until someone’s hands shove their way under Miguel’s arms and start tickling, because that’s when his brain decides to turn on the instant reactions. “Jammit - hAh-”
He clamps his arms down automatically, reeling backwards into Peter’s chest just in time for the attack to stop. “Wait - did you just laugh?” Peter demands. “Shit, I didn’t think that was actually going to work, do it again!”
Peter’s fingers start wriggling back into hypersensitive flesh, trapped in his armpits, and Miguel barely manages to keep his mouth shut as more embarrassing sounds start knocking loose inside his chest. Get away, he yells to himself, hit him, move, just fucking move - he can’t remember the last time his reflexes have been anything but overprotective, but right now every fiber of his body insists he has to stay exactly where his is because granting Peter’s hands even a millimetre more of freedom is going to be the death of him.
He refuses to think about the way his mouth is spasming at the corners entirely without his permission even as the rest of him locks in place. Lyla can record that one, if she wants. See if he cares, it doesn’t count. This is fine. All he has to do is stand here until Peter gets bored - the way he acts, the other man might not even know what an attention span is.
Peter sighs, proving his point. “I’m not asking for much, just one laugh,” he laments dramatically, though Miguel can hear the stupid big grin he gets in his voice. “Do I need to be more annoying? I can be more annoying.”
Miguel sincerely doubts it - at least, until Peter flips one hand around from where it’s pressed up against the top of his ribcage, locks onto his elbow, and starts trying to lever his right arm away from his body. “Geez, would you lay off with the triceps? I’m gonna give myself carpal tunnel over here.”
If Peter would just stop tickling for one shocking second, he’d tell him that he sincerely hopes his stupid fingers break off and die. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself in a motion that’s definitely defiant and not at all panicked, getting as far as opening his mouth before the part of his brain that’s being lit up by every twitch of sensation decides to take over. “Nngh - no, nohoho, mierda!”
His entire face burns red as strangled snorts of laughter keep leaking out of him, has to fold over and brace one of his hands against his jaw to regain any kind of dignity - not that it helps, with Peter changing his hold to adapt to even that small bit of movement and using it to finally pry his arm up.
It’s really, really not fair that the most irritating Spider-Man is one of the most competent ones too. Miguel’s pretty sure luck hates Spiders in general, but it seems to love messing with him in particular.
“You know,” Peter starts conversationally, like he’s not wrapped around Miguel and taking half his weight because he’s shaking too hard to do it himself. “I think this is gonna be a good experience for us. Like, ah, coworker bonding. What’d you say we do this every week until you figure out how to loosen up like a normal person?”
Miguel’s going to kick his ass. He’s going to take his watch and ban him from Nueva York in perpetuity, as soon as he can stand up again. Earth-616 has other superheroes, they’ll survive their Spider-Man losing an arm or two.
Peter dodges the frantic headbutts and kicks he attempts and laughs, light and easy - it makes Miguel feel even stupider, twisted up on himself in desperation to avoid just that. “Hey, if it doesn’t work with your schedule you could just say so! I’ll pencil you in for biweekly, then.”
Idiota. Culero. Miguel doesn’t know if he’s cursing himself or Peter out anymore. He’s properly trapped now, sandwiched up against his own desk with one of Peter’s hands keeping his arm pinned and the other wiggling threateningly over a defenseless armpit. “Well? You gonna say something, or do I have to go full supervillain? I do a great Doc Ock impression, let me tell you.”
Miguel painstakingly loosens his death grip on his own jaw and opens his mouth just enough to wheeze out a heartfelt declaration of his undying hatred. Coughs before he can start, his throat raw from attempting to keep his laughter contained. There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to find Peter looking down at him with something between amusement and genuine concern.
Fine. Fine. “Can you just. Stop. Before I pass out?”
Peter laughs again, landing firmly in amusement and on Miguel’s list of dimensional threats. “Yeah. Yeah, fine, I’ll let you off easy this time.” He lets go, hovering for a moment and then swooping back in to pull Miguel upright when he can’t quite manage it himself. “Okay, super ticklish and super repressed. I can work with that.”
“Don’t,” Miguel growls, leaning on Peter’s shoulder entirely against his own will as he starts to walk both of them out of the office. Where are they even going? The cafeteria? It’s only been-
Oh. He hasn’t eaten in twelve hours. No wonder Lyla had decided to mess with him. But Peter wouldn’t have known that.
“Nope, too late, I’m invested now. Wasn’t kidding about the biweekly thing, by the way.”
Lyla perks up from behind a screen. “I’ll put it on his calendar.”
“Oye, I’m locking you both out of the monitor room.”
The two of them start talking over his head, planning some kind of break in. Miguel turns his head away so Lyla won’t see him smile.