The Hookup - A Villains & Vigilantes Story -Part 1 - Matty's POV (Patreon)

This is super unedited/unbeta'd. It might suck. You'll get both POV's back to back so read this one first, obvi.

Matty leaned against the wall that supported the grand staircase, shoulders hunched like he might disappear into the wallpaper if he concentrated hard enough. He wore a black Spider-Man bodysuit under black basketball shorts and a gray-and-red hoodie. He’d chosen this AU version of Spidey specifically because he could cover the suit enough to not feel completely exposed. He wasn’t ashamed of his body or anything; he just didn’t know these people. Sure, he could’ve picked a different costume, but he’d only decided to attend at the last minute. 

This was a lot of people for Matty. Not college kids like at school. Not a bunch of people who didn’t matter. These were people who’d been hand-picked by his brother-in-law to attend this party, his brother-in-law who was one of the most powerful men alive. It was such a strange configuration of people. All ages, all races, all genders, just seamlessly blending together like family. The whole house already buzzed with noise and laughter, the kind of chaotic energy that made his skin prickle.

Truthfully, Jordan had all but insisted they attend. He was way more into their new family than Matty was. That wasn’t to say Matty didn’t like the Mulvaney’s, he did. But he didn’t really know them. It wasn’t like bonding with psychopaths was easy. They’d invited him and fifty other people to a party that, according to Jordan, was going to devolve into some kind of murder.

He said he’d overheard his brother, Aiden and Aiden’s husband, Thomas discussing it when they were all upstairs getting ready. 

His brother. The thought was so weird. His brother was dead. At least that’s what his father, Marshall Kendrick, had told him anyway. That Aiden had died in an accident when he was seventeen. The weird part was that Matty had seen Aiden’s name in the project Watchtower files more than once but had never made any kind of connection. It wasn’t like Aiden was a rare name. But his brother was alive and now they were there. In this weird limbo of being family but also strangers. 

Aiden was cool. Thomas was cooler. So far, they’d made good on every promise they’d made him. They’d gotten him into Ellory College with little fanfare. Jordan, too. While Matty was currently an econ major, Jordan had entered the music program. Matty had thought for sure Jordan’s music would be 'too much' for a stuffy college full of geniuses, but they actually seemed to enjoy Jordan’s rock music. They’d even clapped for him during their first week, which Matty still couldn’t entirely process. 

There was only one real problem: the cliques. It hadn’t taken long for people to find out that Matty’s last name might be Kendrick, but he was somehow tied to the Mulvaneys. After that, they’d started asking him to join group activities—study groups, acapella groups, poker nights, some weird fantasy-themed running club. The Ivy League was the Ivy League, even when the students were handpicked.

He shook the thought away. He didn’t have to worry about school again until Monday. Tonight, he just had to survive without dying of boredom or embarrassment. Jordan, social butterfly that he was, had abandoned him almost immediately upon arrival to flirt with the large, brooding guy with long dark hair dressed as a very believable version of Brandon Lee’s Crow. Matty didn’t mind. He was already contemplating sneaking off to his assigned room and calling it a night before things got bloody.

He brought his glass to his lips, took a sip of the sickeningly sweet liquor, grimaced, and abandoned it on one of the trays. His tongue felt coated in sugar and fake cherry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing the drink had at least come with a burn.

“Hey.”

Matty turned to find another Spider-Man staring at him. This one was dressed as Spider-Man 2099, and he filled out the suit in a way Matty never could. The mask hiding his eyes made it disturbingly easy for Matty to look his fill. Tall. Broad shouldered. Spandex clinging to muscles in a way that made Matty’s mouth water. He found himself wondering what his face looked like under there. What color his eyes were, what shape his mouth was, whether he had the kind of jawline that made Matty make bad decisions.

“Hi,” Matty murmured, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall, giving the stranger his full attention. Or as full as he could manage without looking like he was about to chew through his own restraints.

“What’s your name?”

“Miles,” Matty lied smoothly. “Miles Morales.”

The other Spidey snorted, clearly recognizing the alter-ego of AU Spider-Man. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

At least he knew his comic books. He had to have some taste. 

Matty shrugged. “Why do you need to know my name?”

“Just making conversation?” he said, like he found Matty’s defensiveness amusing. 

Matty rolled his eyes. “Conversation’s overrated.”

“What would you rather do?” the other Spidey asked, voice flirty and low enough that it vibrated under the mask.

“Wanna go upstairs?” Matty blurted.

The other Spider-Man froze. “I’m assuming you’re of age under there?”

This time it was Matty who snorted. “I’m legal, I promise.”

“Oh, well. If you promise,” he said sarcastically.

“You think Thomas would invite a minor to participate in some kind of murder party?”

“Murder party?” the other Spidey asked, pausing mid-shift of his weight. “What murder?”

Matty shrugged, casual even though his heart was thudding from too much noise, too many people, too much…everything. “I don’t know. I overheard them talking about it earlier. I don’t think anyone else knows.”

Once more, he gave him that headtilt. The one that seemed more Deadpool than Spider-Man. “You seem awfully close to them. How do you know them?”

Matty mirrored his posture. “You’re kind of nosy.”

“Not nosy—curious.”

“I’m curious, too,” Matty said, tone flirty and absolutely unbothered by shame. “I’m curious what you look like under that costume.”

“You’re not much on subtlety, huh?”

Matty shrugged. “If you’re not interested, just say so.”

“Oh, I’m interested, Miles. Don’t get pouty,” the other man said. 

Matty rolled his eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m not pouting, I’m horny.”

The other Spidey laughed–low, warm, muffled by the mask–and something hot fluttered under Matty’s ribs. He hated that.

“What do I call you?” Matty asked.

“Tonight?” the guy said. “Tonight, I guess you call me Miguel.”

The name landed warm in Matty’s stomach. Miguel O’Hara. The alter-ego of Spider-Man 2099’s character. So they would both be hiding under aliases tonight. Fine by him. It wasn’t any of his new family members. That was all that really mattered. According to Thomas, many of these people had flown in just for the party. There was a good chance, he’d never see him again. 

“Want to go upstairs with me, Miguel?” Matty asked.

Miguel seemed to study him behind Spider-Man’s hollow white lenses. Matty hated how exposed he felt, like Miguel could see right through the fabric hiding his face. After a long moment, he said, “Lead the way, Miles.”

So Matty did. He grabbed his hand–big and warm even through the fabric–and dragged him up the stairs. He led Miguel into his room, the one they insisted he could use anytime he wanted, even though he shared a small apartment with Jordan less than twenty minutes away.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Matty shoved him against it. Miguel hit the wood with a solid thud, exhaling in surprise, before laughing softly.

Matty reached for his mask. He didn’t remove the whole thing, just rolled it up until Miguel’s lips were exposed. They were stupidly pretty, full, and soft-looking. A sharp jawline framed them, a bare hint of light stubble shadowing his cheeks. He was older than Matty. Maybe by a lot. That did nothing to quell the heat pooling in his core like melted honey.

Miguel tugged Matty’s mask out of the way, mirroring him. He didn’t have to see Miguel’s eyes to know he was looking at Matty’s mouth. They were both keeping secrets. Both pretending this was nothing. 

Miguel wasn’t a giant, but Matty was small–barely 5’6. He had to come up on his toes to reach him. Matty leaned in, ready, braced, expecting a hard, messy, aggressive kiss like those hookups in the movies. The ones where they were rough and raw and tearing at each other’s clothes like animals. 

But before he could connect, Miguel reversed their positions in a blink. Now it was Matty’s back to the cold wood. Miguel’s large hand wrapped loosely around Matty’s neck, not squeezing, just holding, guiding.

Matty gasped, breath catching.

He wanted raw, needy. Desperate. Something sharp enough to match the chaos buzzing under his skin.

But it wasn’t.

When their lips connected, it was soft. Almost chaste. A slow press. A lingering slide. Their mouths fitting together like they’d done this a hundred times instead of zero. It was gentle, careful, completely at odds with the way Miguel had manhandled him a second ago. It made Matty feel a little lost, a little dizzy, a shock of awareness shooting through him, his cock hardening instantly.

Jesus. Relax. It’s just a kiss.

But it wasn’t just a kiss. Not like the ones he was used to. Not sloppy drunken hookups behind frat houses or rushed, numb encounters in dark rooms. This was deliberate. Focused. Sweet in a way that made Matty’s chest ache.

He was so startled by the softness that he didn’t even react when Miguel caught his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head just right and tugging his mouth open. He balled his hands into fists as Miguel swept his tongue inside, slow, unhurried, tasting him like he had all night.

Matty’s breath stuttered. He kissed back tentatively, tongue brushing shyly against Miguel’s. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, touching felt…dangerous. Too intimate. Too much.

Miguel finally pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice warm and amused, mouth so close it ghosted over Matty’s swollen lower lip. “All riled up from a kiss. You’re so cute.”

“Fuck off,” Matty mumbled, but there was no heat to it. Not when his pulse was hammering so loudly he was pretty sure Miguel could hear it.

The grin he received in return–crooked, amused, almost fond–had him faltering. “And aggressive,” he said. When he saw Matty’s downturned mouth, he only smiled wider. “What? You don’t like when I call you cute?”

“You sure do talk a lot for someone who was looking for a hookup.”

Miguel tilted his head, considering him. “Is that what this is? A hookup?”

Matty’s brow furrowed behind the mask. “Isn’t it?”

His stomach plummeted into his shoes as Miguel once more ghosted his lips over Matty’s. “Depends on how far you’ll let me go.”

Matty could feel every breath like it took effort. The air felt heavier somehow, thick in his chest. He forced a careless shrug. “You can go all the way if you just shut up and take off your pants.”

“Can we at least go to bed, bossy?” Miguel murmured, closing the distance again. “Or do you want me to just fuck you up against the door?”

Matty gasped–actually gasped–and instantly hated himself for it. That only made Miguel chuckle, low and warm.

“Oh, you like that, huh? Dirty boy.”

“Fuck you,” Matty snapped, too quiet and too breathy to be convincing.

There it was again, that infuriatingly soft laugh. Gentle, not mocking. “You could…if you wanted.”

His lips brushed Matty’s again, exploratory this time. Curious. His tongue swept lightly across Matty’s lower lip before gliding inside, mapping out his mouth one slow stroke at a time.

“But I don’t think that’s what you want,” Miguel murmured into the kiss.

“You don’t know what I want,” Matty said, and even to his own ears he sounded like he was arguing for the sake of it, pushing because he didn’t know how to do anything else.

Miguel didn’t bristle. Didn’t push back with ego or heat. Instead, he touched Matty’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, featherlight. Like he knew Matty might bolt.

“Well,” he said, soft as warm hands on a winter morning, “if you’re looking for someone who’s going to fuck you like they hate you, I’m not the guy for you. I’m not really into that.”

Matty froze.

He wasn’t sure what he was into, really. He just knew he didn’t do feelings. The idea of someone being soft with him felt far more dangerous than any rough hookup he’d ever stumbled into drunk. And he didn’t usually do sex sober. He would be far too in his head for that. So he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to drag a stranger upstairs, except the way Miguel had looked at him. Like he wasn’t a mess. Like he wasn’t a complication. Like he wasn’t a burden.

“What are you into, then?” Matty asked, pretending he wasn’t afraid of the answer.

Miguel took his hand–careful, like he was asking permission even while doing it–and tugged him toward the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. When Matty sat, Miguel guided him back with gentle pressure and climbed over him, bracketing Matty’s hips with his thighs.

“I’m into making you feel good,” he said simply.

Matty swallowed. Hard. He had no idea what felt good. 

His throat felt too tight. His chest too small.

“I’m just looking to get off,” he said quickly, defensively.

“They’re not mutually exclusive, you know.” Miguel leaned down, letting their noses brush. “Unless you’re one of those people who needs pain to feel anything.”

The comment hit Matty like a slap, not because Miguel was wrong…but because he wasn’t sure.

His last hookup was a blur, just flashing lights, the bitter taste of cheap beer, some guy’s hands on him, Jordan yelling at him the next morning about being reckless. Matty couldn’t remember anything about it. Not a single clear moment, but all his tests had come out negative. He’d escaped with nothing more than a lecture from Jordan and a demand that he stop trying to prove something to a ghost. 

He blinked up at Miguel.

“I don’t–” he started, then stopped, his throat working. “I don’t…actually know.”

Miguel’s mouth tensed, but the voice stayed gentle. “Hey. That’s okay. You don’t have to know.”

Matty looked away quickly, cheeks hot. He hated how exposed he felt, how easily this stranger peeled him open with nothing but softness. This had been a bad idea. 

“You’re doing a lot of talking,” Matty muttered, trying to drag himself back to solid ground.

“You’re doing a lot of pretending you don’t like it,” Miguel countered.

Matty glared. Miguel just smiled. The bastard.

Before Matty could fire back, Miguel lowered himself, pressing their bodies together. Not grinding. Not rutting. Just…settling. Warm. Solid. His weight braced partly on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing Matty.

“I’m not here to mess with you,” Miguel said quietly. “We can stop. Or we can keep going. But I’m not going to do something if you look uncomfortable. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. No questions asked. I’m not into coercion. Do you want to keep going?”

Matty blinked hard because his vision did something stupid, like it threatened to blur. He hated that.He hated how good this stranger felt to him. He hated how bad he wanted this softness from him. 

Loser.

He didn’t know what to do with this…consideration.

“Yes. Don’t make a big thing out of it,” Matty muttered, but it came out rough, small, vulnerable. “It’s not a marriage proposal.” 

Miguel nodded like he’d been expecting that answer. “Okay.”

Then he kissed him again.

Slow. Reverent. Warm.

Matty’s fingers twitched where they rested against the comforter before finally giving in, curling into the back of Miguel’s suit, gripping tight like he needed something to anchor him.

Miguel’s kiss deepened gradually, patient instead of greedy, tasting Matty one slow sweep at a time. His lips brushed, pressed, lingered, coaxing instead of demanding.

Matty’s hips jerked up—embarrassing, involuntary.

Miguel swallowed the sound he made, sliding a hand from Matty’s hip to the curve of his waist, thumb stroking the sliver of skin exposed where Matty’s hoodie had ridden up. Warmth shot through him at the touch. Pleasure, pure and startling. Something inside him tugged, tight and trembling.

“Jesus,” Matty whispered, breath shaking. “Why are you kissing me like–like that?”

“Like what?” Miguel asked softly, brushing their lips again.

“Like we’re…”

He swallowed.

“Like we’re what?” Miguel asked, teeth grazing Matty’s jaw. 

“Like this means something. Like I’m…important or something.”

Miguel’s breath hitched now, just barely, but Matty felt it, like it was pressed right against his heart.

“Maybe you are,” he murmured.

Matty’s chest cracked open at the edges.

He shoved at Miguel’s shoulder in a knee-jerk panic, then grabbed him right back before Miguel could even move.

“Don’t–just don’t say shit like that,” he snapped, voice breaking. “I’m not–don’t–ugh, just don’t. Okay?”

“Okay,” Miguel whispered. No pushback. No argument. Just quiet acceptance. “No saying it. Just kissing?”

Matty hesitated for half a second…then nodded once, sharp and jerky.

Miguel kissed him again immediately–soft, obedient, warm–and Matty felt himself unravel another inch.

“Good,” Miguel murmured between kisses. “Just tell me what you want.”

Matty didn’t know how to say it out loud. Didn’t know how to admit the truth without sounding more pathetic than he already did.  I want to feel good without feeling empty afterward. I want you to touch me like that again. I want to stop thinking for five seconds.

So he whispered the only thing he could manage.

“Just…kiss me harder.”

Miguel did.

He cupped Matty’s jaw and kissed him deeper, still gentle but with more heat, more tongue, more intention. Matty’s toes curled in his sneakers. His fingers flexed, dragging Miguel closer. He should stop. He should pull away. He should not be letting some masked stranger kiss him like this.

But God–He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to go back downstairs and see Jordan flirting with the Crow or remember that he didn’t belong here.

He just wanted this.

Miguel drew back only long enough to murmur, voice low and sweet against Matty’s swollen mouth, “Tell me if you want to keep going.”

Matty dragged him back down by the front of his suit.

“Shut up,” he whispered. “And keep kissing me.”

Miguel smiled against his mouth, and obeyed.