Miguel O'Hara Oneshots

OBSESSION (SPICE)

Yes, this is spicy and graphic. Smut incoming

The Spider-Surges (your little nickname for them) hit Miguel like a brick wall that morning. 

It was a specific moment, when he was on the way out the door and you were sitting at the couch with your breakfast in hand, watching the news, and he leaned over the couch to kiss your forehead upside-down, as he usually would. But this time, when he tried to pull away, you cupped his face and guided it down to your mouth. He inhaled through his nose, savoring the smell of your caramel perfume mixing with your natural scent of strawberries. And then you patted his cheeks, and he pulled away unwillingly, suddenly flushed. His heart was beating too fast, and his body was tensing a little too involuntarily. 

"I love you, Miguel. See you tonight," you said, calling to him as he left the apartment. When he stepped outside, the shock of the strange sensation faded, and the urges came. He groaned, burying his head in his hands. He didn't know if he could make it to tonight. 

You were stuck in his head the whole day. At work, he could barely get anything done, because he was too busy preoccupied by you. It was extremely frustrating, to not have you there. And then his emotions were too complicated to figure out, because his lust was tinted by some sort of rage and a general desperation. He wanted to get home to you. He wanted you. 

In his last meeting of the day, it was clear that he was anxious to leave. He glanced at the clock every twenty seconds, and he tapped his foot on the floor. He fidgeted with his hands and twisted the edge of the sleeves of his suit.

"Dude, are you OK?" Miles asked, waving a hand in front of his face when he failed to answer a question.

"I'm fine," Miguel insisted. "Just tired."

He was anything but. When the meeting was finally over, he left as quickly as possible, frustrated whenever someone would try to start a conversation. Every second was a second wasted with you. He finally swung down through the large opening underneath the tallest building. You were painted across his eyelids, stinging his lungs because he was breathing so hard and so quickly.

God, he wanted you. He wanted to be holding you, to be kneading your skin with his big hands, to be making you feel good. It almost blinded him. 

He swung into the apartment after what felt like forever. Well, he swung onto the fire escape. And then he banged on the glass until you rose from your spot on the couch with your laptop. He ground his teeth together, tapping his foot again, this time more impatiently. You were wearing his shirt, far too big on you, and a pair of Nike Pros. Your hair was falling around you in a halo, and you looked so pretty, so kissable. 

Miguel knocked on the glass harder and more intently. 

When you finally saw him and walked over to open the window, he felt like he was vibrating. He needed to be inside, to be with you. But you wouldn't let him. After you pulled the window up, you stuck the top-half of your body out of it, propping your elbows up on the windowsill.

You smiled devilishly, and Miguel shuddered. Oh, fuck no. Miguel was way too sensitive for your teasing. But--he had to get through. He sighed, posture relaxing, and said, "Please?" His voice was quiet and small, and it shocked you. You never had him begging this quickly.

You looked over his body, noticing the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the narrow slant of his eyes, and for a moment, you thought something was wrong. You thought he was hurt. So you stepped aside and helped him climb in, and then you frowned at him. 

Not knowing what else to do, you reached out and cupped his face again, like you had done that morning. He had to physically restrain himself from latching onto your hips and tugging you even closer. He wanted to kiss you, very badly. But you still thought something was wrong, and he had to wait. But he couldn't.