Fighter - Jericho's Boys #6 - Prologue (Patreon)

This is just the Villains & Vigilantes chapters as the prologue. I will be posting chapter 1 tonight as well.

Matty

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 Mulvaneys, 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 orientation 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 was 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—warm, big—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 super tall, 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, 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. You 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.

###

Lake

Lake had vowed a long time ago to never hurt someone, especially someone he cared about. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally.

He had spent years perfecting the art of patience. Breathing techniques, grounding exercises, therapy. He’d worked hard to keep his nervous system from reacting irrationally to outside forces. His friends teased him that he was basically a Buddhist monk in a 6’1” rugby-built body, but they weren’t far off. He’d trained himself to be the antithesis of his father.

It was why he didn’t do situationships. 

He’d known from a young age that he wouldn’t be the kind of man his dad had been. The kind of person who claimed they hurt you because they loved you. The kind of person who thought flowers and apologies patched over black eyes, broken bones and years of betrayal.

Lake had decided he would be the kind of boyfriend people envied. The kind who brought soup when you were sick, remembered your favorite candy, kissed your forehead just because. The kind who fell in love with every fiber of his being and simp’d for his partner to an embarrassing degree. He’d been sure he’d find that person by now, but he hadn’t. In twenty-six years, he hadn’t met someone who stirred him.

So he kept things casual. 

Simple. 

Human.

A one-night stand to take the edge off. A mutual release. A warm goodbye. No names unless they wanted to give them. No expectations. No hurt feelings. 

But this—this was different.

The boy—whoever he was—beneath him was trying so hard to act like he didn’t care, like he was unbothered by whatever was happening between them. But Lake wasn’t blind. He wasn’t new to this. He knew what desire looked like. He knew what fear looked like. He knew what hunger disguised as defiance looked like.

And that was what ‘Miles’ radiated. He was an abused puppy trying to bite before he got kicked. He was trembling, twitchy, pushing Lake away with snark and snapping words, then dragging him back in with his mouth or his fingers in Lake’s suit. It was like his body physically resisted soft touches even while craving them. As if gentleness was something foreign. Dangerous. Untrustworthy. Lake recognized that kind of flinch. It tugged at something deep in him.

Maybe he was a sucker. Maybe this boy played vulnerable to get what he wanted. Maybe the prickliness was an act. But Lake’s gut instinct rarely failed him. And his gut told him the boy wasn’t acting. Not even a little.

There was something about him—this contradiction of sharp tongue and trembling breath—that was absurdly sexy. The way he pretended softness repelled him while his restless hips kept grinding up against Lake’s every time Lake grazed his teeth across the sensitive hinge of his jaw… Jesus.

The kid was killing him.

He had somehow managed to get him out of his hoodie and basketball shorts, and he’d done it carefully. Slowly. Pausing whenever Miles stiffened, waiting for an objection that never came. The spandex suit beneath was actually two pieces—thank god—because it made it easier for Lake to slip his hands beneath the hem and feel skin.

Warm. Bare. Unexpectedly delicate.

Miles was small but wiry, lean muscles earned from actual movement, not hours spent trying to sculpt biceps in a gym mirror. Every inch of him was compact strength. But his skin…his skin was soft everywhere Lake touched. His waist. His ribs. His hips. Even his hands—when they weren’t fisting Lake’s suit—were soft. Too soft for someone who acted like he was made entirely of barbed wire and sarcasm.

And his cheeks—Lake caught a glimpse when the mask rode up a little—were warm, flushed, almost rosy. His mouth was kiss-bitten already, pink and slick, and the idea that he had done that sent a low, aching satisfaction through Lake’s chest.

Jericho said he cared too much. He felt too much. Responded too much. Wanted too much. But every want came wrapped in fear. He recognized that fear in Miles. Except where Lake ran towards it, Miles tried to run. 

Lake could feel it in the way he reacted to every stroke, like softness burned. Like kindness was worse than any bruise he’d received. Like he didn’t know what to do with someone who wanted to make him feel good without taking anything from him. Who was he? How had they never crossed paths? Or had they? It seemed impossible that Lake may have been in the same room as him without the two ever finding each other. 

But it didn’t matter. They were there now. Even if it was just a one night stand. Lake pressed a kiss just below his jaw, slow and steady. Miles sucked in a sharp breath, fingers twitching like he was once more contemplating pushing him away.

“You’re shaking,” Lake murmured against his skin.

“I am not,” Miles snapped instantly. Defensive. Automatic.

Lake smiled softly against his neck. “Okay.”

He didn’t call him out. Didn’t challenge him. Didn’t demand anything. He’d stop if he asked,  but Lake couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than to stop touching this boy. He skimmed his palms along the boy’s sides, feeling each shaky inhale as it shuddered through him.

Miles arched up a little, a betraying motion, then immediately stilled like he was furious with himself for giving away even that much. Lake lifted his head, careful. Measured.

The boy stared back at him, mouth parted like a soft invitation he’d never admit was intentional. And Lake felt something shift inside him. Something slow. Something deceptively dangerous.

Fuck.

He liked this boy.

Not just liked the way he looked or the way he sounded when Lake kissed him. He liked the way he fought tooth and nail. He liked the way he kept trying to shove Lake into a role he didn’t want to fill. He liked the way every bit of bravado cracked the second Lake touched him gently.

He liked the idea of being the first person to show him that gentle and good could still feel filthy hot.

“You okay?” Lake asked softly, brushing a knuckle down the boy’s cheek.

Miles twitched. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” Lake murmured. “Just checking in.”

Miles scowled like that was the worst possible answer. His fingers curled into the front of Lake’s suit again, tugging him down, muttering, “Shut up and kiss me.”

Lake smiled. Warm. Obedient.

He lowered his mouth to his again—slow, coaxing, reverent—because God help him, he wanted to kiss this boy for hours, would have been fine with doing nothing more than that until the sun came up. 

Lake was quickly getting addicted to the soft sounds he made, the way he writhed under even a hint of attention. He liked how small he felt beneath him, how his breath hitched every time Lake’s fingers skimmed over warm skin, how he clung to Lake’s shoulders like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be kissed or devoured.

When Lake pulled him upright and tugged off his shirt, Miles didn’t fight. He just lifted his arms like a sleepy toddler letting someone undress him, the mask still sitting just at his cheekbones. Lake’s mouth twitched. For someone who strutted around like a mouthy menace, he was shockingly compliant the second gentleness entered the equation.

When Lake pushed him back down—carefully, slowly—Miles threw his forearm across his mask, hiding his eyes like he didn’t want to see what was coming next. Or maybe like seeing would make it too real.

Lake sat up, straddling his hips, running both hands over his abdomen with a reverent slowness that made the boy’s breath stutter. He mapped the contours of lean muscle, the subtle dips between ribs, the tight tension in his stomach. When his thumbs brushed over the peaks of Miles’s tight nipples, the boy jerked like he’d been startled.

Lake leaned down and took one into his mouth.

The moment his lips closed around the sensitive bud, Miles’s hips bucked up beneath him, a strangled whine tearing free. Lake nearly groaned. 

God, those sounds. 

He scraped his teeth very gently over the peak, just enough to tease, not enough to hurt. Miles grabbed at Lake’s suit again, fingers clutching the fabric like he needed something to anchor himself to.

“Take it off,” he panted, pulling at his costume, breathless and bossy in a way that made Lake smile. “I want to see you, too.”

Lake sat up and peeled the top half of the suit off in a single fluid motion. He heard the tiny gasp immediately, sharp, involuntary, unguarded. Then small hands landed on his abdomen, hesitant at first, then bold. Fingers traced the ridges of muscle, ghost-light touches that made goosebumps rise across Lake’s skin. 

“How do you look like a superhero even without the costume,” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t mean for it to come out.

Lake snorted, embarrassed in a way he hadn’t been in years. “Hardly.”

But the way Miles was touching him—soft, almost reverent—made his pulse pound.

Miles dragged him back down into another kiss, messy and needy and immediate, like he couldn’t stand even a second of distance. Lake liked how desperately he clung, how he tugged at him, how his little noises kept slipping out against his will.

And yeah…he liked that this cocky, sarcastic little shit seemed wholly out of his depth without anything rough. Like tenderness scrambled his brain.

Their clothes disappeared in fragments between kisses—spandex, shorts, gloves, the rest of Lake’s suit—shed piece by piece as if vanishing under the heat they kept stoking between them. Every time Lake tried to pull back to breathe, Miles reeled him in again like they were sharing oxygen. Soon the only thing between them was the bottom of Miles' costume. 

“For someone who hates softness,” Lake teased, lips brushing his jaw, “you sure are clingy.”

Miles froze. Just a fraction. But Lake felt it.

Then Miles dropped his hands from Lake’s shoulders like he’d been burned. “Whatever,” he said softly. Too softly. The bravado cracked at the edges.

“Hey,” Lake murmured, tipping his head. “Don’t be like that. I like it. You’re the one acting like I need to give you a black eye to get you off.”

Miles huffed, then shoved Lake away—not hard, just enough to vacate the closeness—and rolled onto his stomach. The movement exposed a long line of bare spine, a perfect curve of ass, well-muscled thighs. It would’ve looked like an invitation if it weren’t so…defensive.

“Do you want to stop?” Lake asked softly, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt.

Miles didn’t turn around. “Did I say that?”

Lake exhaled slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the half-naked form sprawled before him. Vulnerable without admitting it. Defiant without meaning it.

“This works,” Lake murmured.

He straddled Miles’s thighs, bending over him until his chest pressed warmly to Miles’s back. He mouthed at his shoulder, soft kisses and the occasional teasing bite, just to hear those sharp little breaths. He kissed up the column of his neck, then back down, dragging his tongue along the ridge of his spine in a slow, deliberate stroke.

Miles trembled under him. But it didn’t feel like fear but like he was trying very hard not to show how much he wanted this.

Lake let his nails scrape gently down the muscles on either side of his spine, marveling at how he shivered. When he reached the soft swell of his ass, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the spandex, tugging it just beneath his ass, groaning at the sight. He bit down without thought—not hard, just a firm press of teeth. Miles hissed, hips jerking like he was grinding against the mattress beneath.

“Sorry,” Lake said, not sorry at all. “You have the most bitable ass I’ve ever seen.”

Miles let out a startled little laugh, half annoyed, half flustered. “Thanks?”

Lake bit the curve of his hip, gentler this time, savoring the way heat jumped under his tongue.

He was contemplating getting him out of the rest of his costume when he heard the sound of the knob turning, a shocked gasp, then the slamming of the door.

Both of them froze. That had definitely been Miles’ door. 

He twisted to look back at Lake over his shoulder, jaw slack, breath coming fast.

Lake’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Who was that?”

“No idea,” Miles said. “It doesn’t matter.” 

He said it didn’t matter, but the way they both held their breath as they listened for any sound that indicated the person might come back, said otherwise. 

When no further sounds came, Lake dropped his forehead to Miles lower back and blew out a shaky laugh. “Well,” he murmured against his skin, “that’s one way to kill the moment.”

“Is that all it takes to kill the mood,” Miles asked, sounding disappointed. 

Lake climbed off him, noting the way he could see the hurt even with only the lower half of his face visible. But all he did was cross to the door, turning the lock with a loud click. Miles' shoulders sagged, then he dropped his face into the pillow like he could hide his relief. 

Lake returned, settling between his open legs. His hands slid up the backs of his thighs again, warm and steady, mapping the shape of him, fixated on his exposed ass. “Did it kill the mood for you?” he asked softly, thumbs brushing the crease where thigh met hip. 

“No,” Miles said, softly. 

“Good, me either,” Lake said. 

Miles made a sound between annoyance and embarrassment. “Then don’t stop.”

Lake smiled, bending down to press a kiss to his back, even as he throbbed, aching to bury himself inside this prickly boy. This kid was wound so tight he vibrated, but the second Lake touched him, he melted.

“Okay, bossy,” Lake said softly. 

He kissed the small hollow above Miles’s hips, not a rough kiss, not a tease. A real kiss. Intentional. And the way Miles’s fingers clenched in the sheets told Lake he’d hit something deeper than nerves or arousal. Something he didn’t have words for yet.

“Stop,” Miles whispered, except his hips lifted like his body had no clue what the word meant.

“Too much?” Lake asked.

“Yes,” Miles said…then shivered again when Lake’s lips brushed the same spot. “No. I don’t know. Just—don’t.”

Lake sat up enough to really look at him, this lean, tense, impossibly sensitive boy with a mask hiding half his face, hiding everything except the parts Lake was already getting attached to: the flushed cheeks, the bitten lip, the attitude that fell apart the second someone touched him gently. Lake peeled his own mask off, tossing it on the bed. When Miles glanced over his shoulder and saw him without the mask, he froze. 

“Can I?” Lake asked. When Miles hesitated, he said, “You don’t have to tell me your name, but at least let me see your eyes.” 

For a second they were in a stand-off of some kind. He was about to take it back when Miles huffed out a sigh. 

“Whatever,” he said, tugging the spandex off and tossing it to join Lake’s on the bed. 

Lake’s brain ground to a halt. He’d expected him to be hot. His mouth was perfect, his cheeks hollowed and jaw like carved marble…but he wasn’t just hot. He was fucking pretty, like in the way fairy tale creatures were pretty. Even in the dim amber light, Lake could make out hazel blue eyes, a mop of short curly brown hair that looked soft to the touch and a gaze that looked far too innocent to belong to someone so cynical. 

Elven. That’s the word that came to mind. A small, compact, adorable, troublemaking elf. His ears were even a little bit pointy. Lake’s cuteness aggression battled with his need to fuck the innocent expression right off his stormy little face.

“You’re staring,” Miles muttered, before burying his face in the pillow. 

God, who was he really? Miles wasn’t his real name, but everything else felt real. At least to Lake. The way the boy trembled felt real, the goosebumps on his skin. The way he looked at Lake like he wanted him even if he hated himself for it. 

All of it. 

“Tell me what you want,” Lake said, voice low but steady. He wasn’t going to guess. He wasn’t going to assume. Not with someone like this.

Miles hesitated, then turned onto his back. His chest was flushed. His neck marked. His breathing shallow. He looked defensive, but his eyes were blown wide, vulnerable in a way he clearly hated. He seemed mad at himself for shedding his last shred of anonymity. 

“I just don’t want soft,” Miles muttered.

Lake huffed a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

Miles’s jaw tightened. “I don’t do soft. I do fast and stupid and forgettable.”

For a moment, Lake didn’t say anything. He just brushed a knuckle along Miles’ ribs, slow and warm. Miles flinched, not away. More like his body didn’t know what to do with affection.

“You don’t seem that forgettable to me,” Lake murmured.

Miles’s breath snagged. He pushed at Lake’s chest, not enough to move him. More like he needed something to do with his hands so he didn’t feel so exposed.

“You’d be shocked at how easily forgotten I am,” he whispered.

Lake’s heart twisted, sharp and painful. He dipped his head, lips brushing the corner of Miles’s mouth. “I’ll let you think that if you need to.” He sucked at his lower lip. “How far do you want to take this?”

Miles hesitated, then kissed him hard, like it was the only way he knew how to speak. It was all teeth and need and urgency, until Lake softened it. Slowed it. And just like before, Miles melted under it, body arching, knees parting instinctively to reel Lake closer.

“I need words,” Lake coaxed. 

Miles buried his face in Lake’s neck. “Everything. Fuck me. I need more.”

He said it like he was embarrassed just voicing his own needs, but Lake had never been so turned on in his life. Miles was addictive. Every twitchy, defensive inch of him.

Lake tugged him from his hiding place, then deepened the kiss, hands roaming up Miles’s sides. When he finally pulled the rest of Miles’s suit down, the boy gasped like he’d been stripped of armor, not clothes. Lake licked his lips as he took him in. He was…proportionate, his cock flushed a deep red and straining against his belly, already leaking. 

He was so pretty it made Lake’s chest ache.

For someone who strutted around like he was all attitude, he was…small? Physically, he was wiry and strong, all lean muscle and restless energy, but he was also small in the way he curled into touch he pretended not to need. Lake didn’t know how to name what that did to him, but whatever it was…it was potent.

Lake caught his mouth in another bruising kiss, then whispered, “Roll over,” against his ear. 

Miles hesitated for only a moment, before settling onto his belly again. 

Fuck. 

He really was gorgeous. 

Lake climbed over him once more, this time letting the hard length of his cock settle between the globes of his ass as he kissed down the ridge of his shoulder, slow as honey. Miles shivered, hips canting as he ground against him. Lake bit gently at the curve of his neck, just enough pressure to coax a gasp. 

“Spread your legs, bossy,” Lake bit at the shell of his ear. “I wanna taste you.”

“O—kay,” he managed, his words breaking on a gasp before he buried his face in the pillow. 

Lake dropped a kiss just below his ear, then his shoulder, before moving lower. Miles spread his thighs. He was so good at behaving when he wanted to. He palmed the swell of his ass, spreading him open, staring unabashedly until he started shifting restlessly beneath him. 

“Stop staring,” he said in a hissing whisper. 

“It’s not my fault you’re sexy everywhere,” Lake murmured as he settled between his legs. 

He bit back a groan as his cock met the mattress, rutting his hips just for the delicious pulse of friction. He needed to fuck him soon or he was going to go crazy, but he couldn’t bring himself to rush. He knew when it was over, the spell would be broken and his Miles would shove him out the door. 

But he didn’t want to think about that. Not when he had him all laid out before him. When he spread him open once more, he heard Miles muffled whine, like he was embarrassed. He had no reason to be. He was perfection. 

Lake didn’t hesitate, the broad sweep of his tongue going from his balls to his rim, earning a strangled whimper from the boy beneath him. He twisted beneath him restlessly, but Lake held firm, lapping at him like he was a dessert to be savored. He could feel the way his thighs twitched and his body jolted every time he made contact and it had Lake leaking into the sheets below, his own hips shifting desperately. 

Still, he took his time, enjoying every desperate wail his tongue pulled from him. He would tease and lick at the tight ring of muscle until the boy was all but babbling beneath him, then press his thumb to the puffy skin as he sucked bruises into his thighs. He wasn’t sure how many times he repeated the cycle, but by the time he slid back up to kiss between Miles’s shoulder blades, the boy’s pillow was wet with tears and drool and his voice was harsh from saying please what seemed like a thousand times. 

“Lube? Condoms?” he asked against his skin. 

“Drawer,” Miles managed, before hiding his face. 

Lake retrieved the bottle, tugging a foil packet from the—unopened—box of condoms. The snap of the cap could barely be heard over their panting breaths. He coated his fingers, then teased his fingers back between his cheeks. He massaged over the delicate skin there before sinking a finger inside, biting back a groan as the tight heat surrounded him. Miles made another throaty sound, pressing back onto Lake’s finger. 

“I can take another,” he said. “Hurry up.” 

Lake shook his head but did as he asked, pulling out before pressing back in with two, latching his mouth to the side of his neck while he worked them in and out, trying not to imagine what it would feel like when it was his throbbing cock, now trapped between their bodies. Miles didn’t seem like he was faring any better, fucking himself with Lake’s thick digits, sexy little sounds escaping with every roll of his hips. 

When Lake went to add a third, Miles shot a glare over his shoulder. “It only has to fit your dick, not a tractor trailer. Just fuck me already. Damn.”

Lake couldn’t hold back his laugh as he slipped his fingers free, wiping them on the mattress. “You want to turn over?” 

He got a sharp shake of his head. “No, like this…please,” he added quietly, sounding almost as wrecked as Lake felt. 

He sat back between Miles’ open legs, rolling on the condom and coating it with lube. When the boy tried to get up on his knees, Lake pressed a hand into his lower back, applying pressure until he was flush with the mattress. 

He blanketed his back, hovering slightly as he teased the head of his cock over his hole, biting his lip as he tried to keep from coming on the spot. 

Miles made an impatient noise. “Stop messing arou—” 

His sentence died with a desperate whine as Lake pressed inside, not stopping until he was fully buried. He pressed his face into Miles’ neck, trying to get a grip on himself. The other boy was so hot and tight around him that he was almost positive he was going to come in three seconds. He’d never felt this on edge before. 

He rested his full weight on him, pressing drinking in the scent of him, the warmth of his body beneath him. He kissed the back of his neck softly, running his hands along his arms, then threading their fingers together. He waited for him to protest, but he just tilted his head, letting Lake bury his lips against the shell of his ear. 

When Lake rolled his hips, they both moaned. He felt like heaven. It was easy to get lost in him, his scent, his heat, his sharp breaths and tiny whines. Lake kept his pace even, measured, hyper-aware of every sound Miles made. At least that was his intention. He wasn’t sure when he started to speed up, when he lost himself to the tight heat of the boy beneath him. They were both slippery with perspiration, fingers white-knuckled together as Lake fucked into him harder, faster, desperate to get as deep as he could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Miles panted, sounding somewhere between a sob and a prayer. “I need you to touch me.” 

Lake felt a little crazed, high on the boy beneath him and the smell of sex and sweat clinging to their bodies. He couldn’t get enough of the sound of their skin meeting, their panting breaths, Miles choked off sobs and Lake’s whispered praises. 

He mouthed at his throat, bit at his earlobe, letting Miles hear every harsh breath that escaped each time he drove into him. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, it was such an underwhelming statement compared to what he was feeling that he almost wanted to take it back. Almost.  

“You, too,” Miles slurred, gripping Lake’s fingers like a life-line. “Please, touch me,” he said again. 

This time, Lake listened, shifting their positions until Miles was almost on his side, one leg raised enough for Lake to reach between his legs and wrap a hand around his straining cock. The second his fist closed around the boy, he sobbed, fucking into Lake’s hand, seemingly too far gone to care about being embarrassed. 

Lake tangled his freehand in the boy's hair, tugging his head to the side to crash their lips together, not even kissing really, just breathing into each other’s mouths. 

Miles came first, crying out against Lake’s lips, as he spilled over his fist, his whole body shaking. The moment his body clenched around him, Lake followed, biting down on the boy’s lower lip, pleasure whiting out everything as he came harder than he ever had in his whole life. 

When his brain came back online, he didn’t move. He kept his forehead pressed to Miles’ shoulder, sucking in lungfuls of air. When he stopped shaking, he pulled out as gently as he could, dropping a kiss on his upper arm as he got up to throw out the condom. 

When he turned back around, Miles was facing the wall.  “You don’t have to leave right this second, but you should go before I wake up.” 

Lake tried to push down the disappointment that flooded him. 

“You’re the boss,” he said softly, climbing back onto the bed. 

He tugged the covers out from beneath the smaller boy and pulled them up over them both, making himself the big spoon. Miles stiffened, but he didn’t push him away. Lake considered it a win. Or at least as close as he’d get to one. He fell asleep with his nose buried in the crook of his neck, one arm already numb beneath the boy’s head and the other around his waist. 

The next time he opened his eyes, it was dark and he was alone in the bed. He sighed when he scanned the room and found the boy asleep in the chair in the corner. He stood, dressing as quietly as possible. When he was finished, he went to the chair, picking up his sleeping form and returning him to the bed. He tucked him in, brushing his lips across his temple. 

“See you around, Miles Morales.”