Chapter Text
Miles has gone to his uncle for advice ever since he can remember.
Once, when Miles was in grade school, he and a few friends walked to the bodega on Fulton and each stole a candy bar. Immediately after, Miles went to Aaron, nearly crying with shame. Aaron had listened to Miles’ confession, then picked up the candy bar, ate the entire thing, and said, mouth full, “Nothing to feel guilty about anymore.”
That’s why Miles goes to Aaron’s apartment after leaving May’s. He wants Aaron to listen to what he’s been through, card his hand through Miles’ hair and say there’s nothing to be upset over.
Miles wants to hear Aaron say it’s going to be okay.
When Prowler comes through the fire escape, all Miles can think is to hide. Thoughts like, ‘ how did he find me ,’ or ‘ why is he here ’ get pushed into the back of his mind behind a wall of ‘ turn invisible turn invisible turn invisible ’.
Behind the TV, Miles holds his breath, prays his camouflage works, just this once. Miles can hear Prowler move through the apartment, scanning for him. He watches his own hands, still entirely opaque, as Prowler rounds the corner.
Prowler grabs him.
Miles is pinned against the wall of his uncle’s apartment before he can think, one of Prowler’s giant clawed hands pressed hard against his windpipe. He meets Prowler’s masked eyes and sees no mercy.
This is how I’m going to die , Miles thinks. Spiderman died and all of Brooklyn is going to die and now I’m going to die, right here. The only light comes from Prowler’s suit, and Miles feels disorienting adrenaline and dizziness. The hand on his neck tightens.
“Please,” Miles chokes. He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. Please don’t kill me. Please let me go. Please let all of this be a dream. Please, please, please.
Prowler doesn’t speak, just runs his other hand over Miles’ mask, the claw catching on the fabric. He stares deeply into Miles’ wide eyes, revealed by his cheap knockoff costume, taking in Miles’ desperation. Prowler registers the fear, all consuming, the hypersensitive gauntlets letting him feel every heartbeat under his palm.
“You were there that night.” Prowler says, modulated voice coming heavy through the mask. “You know I can’t let you live, kid.”
Miles’ blood runs cold, his lip trembling as he tries to breathe. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
Prowler grazes a claw against Miles’ cheek again. He presses closer, masked face close enough to smell Miles’ fear.
“I bet you would.”
“I haven’t seen your face. I won’t go to anyone. Please,” Miles tries to hold back his tears, and can’t. They make the thin cloth mask cling to his face and he knows Prowler can feel him shake. “I don’t want to die.”
“No one ever does,” Prowler answers. One of Miles’ shaky hands raises to Prowler’s gauntlet, desperate to stop the pressure. Tears come more freely now, and his jaw aches from the contact with the hard metal. His throat burns, and his toes barely touch the ground.
When Prowler presses closer, thigh nudging Miles’ legs apart, he tries to jerk away. The hand on his neck presses tighter, a warning.
“Wha--” Miles tries. Then Prowler huffs against his neck, even his breathing modulated, and Miles feels something against his thigh.
He’s hard, Miles thinks. He’s killed people, and he’s going to kill me, and he’s hard.
Miles shivers.
“Don’t.” He rasps, airway still painfully constricted. “Don’t do this.”
“I thought you didn’t want to die.” Prowler has the audacity to laugh, casually, and bring one claw to lift the edge of Miles’ mask.
Miles shuts his eyes, but Prowler only brings it up over his nose before dragging one long finger against his exposed lips. Miles tries to keep his mouth closed, making a small noise of protest.
“Ah, ah,” Prowler says, forcing the claw into his mouth. Miles nearly gags, his jaw opening painful around it. He sees the outline of a smile through Prowler’s mask. “Good boy.”
The praise coupled with the lack of oxygen make Miles’ hips buck against Prowler’s thigh. Immediately embarrassed, Miles groans and shuts his eyes, tongue still flattened by Prowler’s claw.
Miles can feel Prowler’s laugh, vibrations ringing through his body. The hand around his neck finally drops, and he’s allowed one rattling breath before he’s thrown to the ground, landing hard on his hands and knees. The pressure at his back returns, Prowler’s clothed dick grazing his ass as Miles tries to crawl away.
Two claws are pressed into his mouth, and Miles groans again, pulled backwards. Prowler’s other hand grips Miles’ waist and tears the edge of his suit. Miles’ eyes go wide.
“No, eea on’t oo ‘at,” He tries around the fingers, making him drool. Prowler seems to get the message and laughs again.
“I’m going to,” He says. “What did you expect? You want to be Spiderman so badly, you can assume all his usual risks.”
Miles’ breathing picks up, and he shuts his eyes again, terrified. He’s alive, for now, so at least that’s one less thing to worry about currently. He hears his suit rip, feels the rush of cold air against his back.
“Aw, you still wear underwear under the suit. So new to this,” Prowler laughs. “You’ll learn.”
Miles shivers as his underwear is tugged down. Oh God, this is really happening. Breathe , Miles thinks. Just breathe, and don’t think about it. This is what Spiderman does, right?
“I’b unerage,” Miles tries, “I’b ot eh’een.”
“You should know that when you put on that suit, you operate outside the law. People like us, you think we care how old you are? You think Kingpin cares what grade the new Spiderman’s in, when he sends me to kill him?”
Prowler grinds against him again, the hand that ripped his cheap costume open now pulling roughly at his cock. Miles can’t help but jerk and groan at the touch. He’d barely even touched himself, just humped a pillow, a handful of times, and didn’t even come. This was something else entirely.
It feels shamefully, embarrassingly good.
Miles groans, drool leaking down his chin, and bucks into the cold metal of the gauntlet.
“I don’t care who you are, kid. I just know I’m going to do what I want. That’s what you’re entitled to when you wear a mask.”
The hand around Miles’ cock pulls away and he whines, thrusting into nothing. There’s a metallic hiss and it returns, warm and human. If Miles thought his glove was good, Prowler’s bare palm nearly makes him sob. Miles can feel Prowler’s dick through the fabric of his costume thrusting harshly at his bare ass but he doesn’t care, because the hand around his dick twists in a way that makes him see stars.
“Ah!” Miles works his tongue around the claws in his mouth.
“Easy to get you going, huh? Half the time the old Spider needed. You really are young.”
“Hah,” Miles pants, hips bucking on their own, fucking Prowler’s fist roughly. “Ah, ah!” Breathy noises and half broken off sounds are all the warning Prowler gets before Miles is spilling cum in long arcs across his hand. Prowler jerks him through it, Miles’ hips stuttering a broken rhythm as he groans. His orgasm hits him between the eyes and he drops to his elbows, still chasing the tight heat of Prowler’s fist.
Prowler moves the hand in Miles’ mouth to his ass, the claws spreading him open roughly. Miles thrusts weakly into the hand around his dick when Prowler removes it, instead letting the come drip off his fingers and onto Miles’ spread hole.
“Please,” Miles says, breathing harshly. “I can’t.”
Prowler ignores him and moves the gauntlet to spread him further. His bare thumb pushes some of Miles’ come into his hole, before Miles tightens.
“Relax,” Prowler says, and then sinks his thumb inside of Miles.
“Ah!” Miles yells. It doesn’t hurt, not yet, but it’s uncomfortable and he doesn’t want to be here, being fucked by an assassin in his uncle’s apartment.
The thought of Aaron coming home and finding him like this, back arched like a dog for a villain, someone who helped kill Spiderman, makes Miles shiver. How could he ever hope to explain it? Sorry Uncle Aaron, I wanted to ask your advice on being a superhero but got fucked by an assassin in your living room instead . Prowler adds another finger and keeps stretching him.
Miles doesn’t want to like it, but he feels good. It doesn’t hurt like he thought it would, and Prowler is brushing his fingers over something inside him that makes his dick twitch. Miles is hard again, so soon, and the thought makes him blush. He hears Prowler groan, and chances a look behind him.
Prowler has his cock in the hand covered by the gauntlet, working himself up and down. His costume is still on, pants barely pushed down and belt removed. Watching Prowler masturbate, Miles catches up to himself and gets another wave of dread. This is actually going to happen, he thinks.
“No, no no,” Miles says as another finger breaches him. “You can’t, this--ah! Can’t be my--ah, not here, please!”
Prowler removes his fingers and pushes inside.
Miles feels full more than anything else, stretching to accommodate Prowler’s dick. He sobs with the feeling; speared open, vulnerable, and raw. “Please!”
Prowler laughs. “This isn’t even half.”
Then he pulls out, and jerks his hips to thrust in again, faster.
“Ah!” Miles cries. The clawed hand moves to his shoulder and pulls him back to meet each of Prowler’s thrusts. They punch the sounds out of him, mewls and groans and sighs.
Oh God , Miles thinks. It’s so good, and I hate it.
“Fuck,” Prowler whispers. He grabs at Miles’ dick with his uncovered hand, letting Miles fuck his fist.
It’s too much , Miles thinks, and tries to articulate that. Instead, he lets out a long, breathy, “Ahhn!”
“Are you going to come again?” Prowler asks. The claw digging into Miles’ shoulder reaches up to take the mask all the way off, and Miles doesn’t try to stop him. It’s thrown across the room.
The gauntlet returns around his neck, drawing Miles up to his knees and then back into Prowler’s lap, his back flush with the bigger man’s chest. Miles can feel the entire length of his cock spearing him open, packed inside him, so full it almost hurts.
One of Miles hands moves to his stomach, feeling it distended from the size of the dick inside of him.
Miles drops his head to Prowler’s shoulder and comes, his entire body seizing taught, with a drawn out moan. His dick twitches and releases into Prowler’s hand. He feels himself tighten around Prowler’s cock.
The electricity he had been gathering earlier gets released, and as he comes he shocks Prowler hard enough to let go of him.
Miles spills forward, onto the floor. In a daze, he turns back to look at Prowler.
“Oh, no.” Prowler says, seeing Miles’ face for the first time. Miles wants to say something, but just watches boneless as Prowler grabs his discarded gauntlet.
“Oh, fuck , no.” He mutters to himself, and leaves, without a word, through the fire escape.
“Wha-” Miles tries, exhausted. He gathers himself onto his knees and tries to parse what happened. His suit, torn in half, still rests around his ankles. He’s almost 100% sure he’s sitting in come. He’ll have to take some of Aaron’s clothes to wear instead of his ruined costume.
Oh no, Aaron! Miles thinks. He can’t find me like this!
Miles uses the remnants of his suit to clean his mess and stuffs them into a plastic bag, then puts that in the trash. He takes sweatpants from Aaron’s closet, the closest to his size and still far too big.
Miles thinks about leaving, taking the subway home to avoid Prowler and Spiderman and Gwen who are all probably looking for him. Instead, he closes the window to the fire escape and locks it, then gets his phone out.
It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey Uncle Aaron, call me when you get this. I’m staying at your place tonight. I know you’re out of town but I just… can’t go home. I need to talk to someone really badly. I need advice, you know? Just uh, call me back.”
Miles falls asleep on Aaron’s couch and dreams of light trails in the dark, and purple.