Work Text:
A low growl vibrates through the quiet apartment, almost making O’Hara break his neutral demeanor. Almost.
“If you want something, then use your words,” he states nonchalantly, busying himself with one of his various tinkering projects. He flips through his notebook to jot down a few notes before he hears another growl, letting his lips twitch for just a moment before he turns to address the owner of those deep growls.
If anyone told him a year ago he’d have a sexual relationship with a man from a completely different universe who shared his face, he’d have died from laughing so hard at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea. Yet, here he was, shoes clicking against the hard tile as he approached an alternate version of himself, feeling excitement curl in his gut at the pure fury glimmering in those red eyes. The other was on his knees in the middle of his living room, arms behind his back with his wrists bound in short but thick strings of webs to his ankles. Nothing extreme, really, aside from the muzzle wrapped around the man’s face, covering the lower half of his face in thick leather to keep those fangs of his away. He’s not gagged, exactly, but his jaw can’t move much under the mask.
O’Hara was never sure how to feel about the arrangement they had. Fucking someone who has your face is odd enough, but fucking someone who is you from another universe is just weird. Yet, it wasn’t as weird as it could be, and O’Hara chalks it up to the fact they don’t look exactly the same.
The man before him - Miguel O’Hara, leader of his created Spider Society in his universe of Earth-928 - is quite larger than O’Hara, standing at nearly six-foot-nine whereas O’Hara is a mere five-ten or so. Another obvious difference is actually their skin color. O’Hara clearly inherited Tyler Stone’s whiteness (he cringes at the reminder of who his father is) while Miguel seemed to inherit their mother’s much darker skin tone. Along with that, Miguel had dark brown hair while O’Hara had reddish-brown hair instead. The only similarities they had were their red eyes, talons, and venomous fangs - aka, the Spider-Man powers that got spliced into them.
Another stark difference is their personalities. While they’re both rather smug and sarcastic, this Miguel seemed to lose his dark humor after a rather traumatic experience involving the destruction of another dimension. O’Hara, on the other hand, still keeps up with his sardonic wit. It’s an interesting combination that appears to remind Miguel of his old self.
The issue, however, is Miguel is rather… violent.
O'Hara is fully aware of the damage his fangs and talons can do to others, and it seems Miguel is aware as well, just… not during sex. Miguel sort of loses control, forgets to concentrate on his talons, and gives into the urge to bite. O'Hara is no saint given they both are immune to their own venom, so he's given his fair share of bites here or there, but Miguel is difficult to control.
Hence their current situation.
Last time Miguel was here in O'Hara's universe, seeking his usual distraction, he had left so many bites and scratches on O'Hara that it took his body a few hours to heal them all. O'Hara was not amused.
Now Miguel is the one who's not amused, his snarl - while O'Hara can't see it - definitely hidden under that muzzle of his. His brows pinch with anger, eyes following O'Hara's every move as if waiting for him to slip up. Unfortunately for him, O'Hara is also a Spider-Man, and his own organic webbing is as strong as his.
Adjusting his shades (another similarity they have is their sensitive vision, yet Miguel never seems to wear shades), O'Hara kneels down in front of the man, taking in the toned muscle hidden under that holographic suit. He never considered making his suit holographic, and with how convenient this suit is, he's highly considering upgrading. He reaches out, dragging his fingertips over that broad chest, amused at the soft grunt that leaves the other man at such a simple touch. He must be more desperate than O'Hara thought.
Getting him here wasn't difficult. Aware of his lack of spider sense (given he, too, doesn't have it), he was able to catch him off guard and web his hands together, eventually getting him into the position he wanted and wrapping that leather mask around his face.
Then he left him to sit for the last thirty minutes.
"Use your words," O'Hara prompts again, a teasing tilt in his voice. Miguel glares at him, clearly annoyed, but that just amuses him more. "Would you rather sit here for a few hours? If you need time to reflect on why you're here, then by all means-!"
Miguel's jaw twitches, jumbled words muffled behind his muzzle that O'Hara can't make out. He chuckles, reaching out to grip his chin, making sure he can't look away from his eyes. "You need to learn to keep those fangs and claws of yours under control. Until then, this is your punishment."
Miguel's eyes narrow, a threat clear in that red glow, but he doesn't utter a sound. Not even a growl. Satisfied, O'Hara flicks out a wrist, webbing over a pair of restrictive leather gloves he got just for this occasion. Miguel's eyes narrow further, letting out a few displeased grunts. Carefully, as to keep the upper hand, O'Hara releases one hand from his bonds to wrap a few layers of thick web to hold his fist in place before covering it in the restrictive glove. Miguel looks downright furious at the action, a hint of embarrassment heating along his cheeks. Once O'Hara binds the other hand, Miguel lashes out.
But with his fangs and claws hidden, he's not as threatening. O'Hara easily overpowers him, his lack of being able to even grab him being his downfall. Miguel yells furiously behind his muzzle, trying to claw his gloves away but to no avail. He's stuck.
O'Hara stands back for a moment while Miguel struggles, waiting for the other to calm down and look at him. "If you behave, I'll remove them," he states, keeping his voice neutral even though his insides are on fire with nerves. He's never done anything like this with Xina or Dana, so he's sort of in new territory now. Miguel, however, seems curious by his words, the anger flickering away bit by bit.
O'Hara takes a seat in his chair, gesturing for Miguel to come closer. "Stay on your hands and knees," he instructs, watching as Miguel's face twists with annoyance. Yet, after a few moments, the other does as he's told, crawling on his hands and knees to O'Hara's chair. After some coaxing, he rests his head on O'Hara's lap, big arms circling his hips. O'Hara hums, tilting his chin up so their eyes connect once more. "Now behave while I work."
They had moved to O'Hara's desk, placing Miguel in the small nook under the metal. He's quiet the whole time, cheek resting on his thigh as he waits rather patiently for O'Hara to finish whatever he's working on. He makes a sort of purring noise when O'Hara runs his fingers through his hair, almost as if petting a cat. O'Hara is amused, a part of his mind screaming at how lucky he got with getting his alter in such a vulnerable position. The two have brawled before, and while O'Hara can hold his own, he has to admit Miguel's fighting style is much more effective and brutal than his own.
He's in the middle of hooking up the new tech to his system (aka, Lyla) when he feels Miguel shift between his legs, arms tightening around his hips, and face nuzzling deeper between his thighs. O'Hara pauses, glancing down to find those glowing red eyes staring at him, glimmering with a silent plea.
Seems his patience is finally wearing thin.
When Miguel comes here, it's always to get away from his own stress, using his alter to clear his mind and let it rest for just a little while. O'Hara can understand that, having his own loads upon loads of stress and fuckery from his own universe, but being the leader of an entire Spider-Man society, leading missions into various universes to capture anomalies that need to be returned home… anyone would fall under all that weight.
Miguel wants one thing from him and he's not giving it.
Shifting, O'Hara gives a sliver of mercy by pressing his shoe against Miguel's clothed hard-on. The man jerks at the touch but physically can't move away, trapped between the walls of the desk. A small noise escapes him as he carefully grinds his foot against him, eyes fluttering and face burying back between his legs.
They stay like that for a little while, O'Hara working away while Miguel whimpers softly under the mask, grinding against his shoe in little jerking motions. After many minutes, the other let out a frustrated groan, pressing his forehead to O'Hara's stomach and burying his face right against his own aching cock. He stiffens, biting back a groan of his own when Miguel purposefully rubs his muzzle against him, trying to get a reaction.
Well.
It works.
"Needy much?" O'Hara grits out, sliding his chair back and grabbing Miguel's arm, yanking him out from his tight enclosure. Miguel follows willingly, cheeks flushed and pupils blown. Despite the height difference, O'Hara is not threatened by the other, easily tugging him along to his bedroom where he shoves him down onto his back, his own patience gone. Miguel doesn't seem to mind.
It's almost a routine - watching that suit disappear right under his fingertips, hands taking a moment to explore that toned body before he bends him in half and opens up that hole of his. Miguel whimpers soft little moans, unable to do much given his lack of hands. He can't even urge O'Hara to hurry up, the muzzle restricting whatever complaint he might have.
When O'Hara bottoms out inside of him, Miguel's back arches so nicely, muzzle doing nothing to hide those lewd noises he lets loose. Miguel squirms under him, his cock aching against his stomach. O'Hara can't get enough of the sight, holding his legs apart and driving into him without give. Miguel's hands swipe across the sheets uselessly, clearly aching to dig his claws in but unable to. The frustration mixing in with his pleasure is such a nice sight.
"Easy, big guy," O'Hara groans, pressing down low so his face is just inches from Miguel's. The change in position adjusts his angle and he smirks when Miguel's eyes grow wide before snapping shut, throat cracking between moans. O'Hara grinds against his sweet spot, determined to make him as sensitive as possible.
Strong arms wrap around his shoulders but for once he doesn't feel the sharp sting of claws in his back. Miguel yanks him closer, pressing his face into his neck and letting out a low whine. O'Hara chuckles, dropping one leg to cup the back of his neck. "What? Do you want something?" Miguel nods jerkingly, the leather from his muzzle scraping against his skin. "Use your words."
Miguel lets out a noise of frustration, a muffled noise sounding a lot like "please" slipping from him over and over again. Knowing exactly what he wants, O'Hara decides to tease him, grinding his hips in gentle circles as he tilts Miguel's head aside, trailing his lips along that smooth flesh before the tips of his fangs scratch gently, making the other shiver.
"You want this?" O'Hara murmurs, smirking at the immediate nod. He knows what Miguel really wants is to remove the mask so he can dig his teeth in, but he's not letting him get that so easily. Instead, he digs his own fangs in, making the other sort of squeal in surprise. Bound hands scrap against his back, aching to cling to him. O'Hara absolutely loves it.
He's not a fan of blood, but he still drags his tongue along the bite he left behind, prompting a shaky moan from the other. The noise sends a thrill through him, snapping his hips against his sharply. Miguel reacts in kind, holding onto him so tightly O'Hara is sure this would break any normal person's spine. Just to irk him, O'Hara lets his claws come loose, scraping them carefully along his skin. Miguel makes a small noise of annoyance at the hypocrisy of the other, but quiets back down to a low rumble of groans the more O'Hara touches him.
"If you can cum without touch," O'Hara groans, rocking his hips faster, "I'll take off the muzzle and gloves." Miguel shudders with desire, looking at him pleadingly. O'Hara grins, pressing a kiss to his mask right over where his lips are hidden. "But if I finish first, I'm sending you back home like this."
Miguel's eyes widen a bit at the threat, looking nervous for a moment only for his eyes to roll back, not expecting O'Hara to grab his hips and slam into him repeatedly, striking his prostate with each thrust. O'Hara knows Miguel can do what he asked, and even if he can't, he won't actually send Miguel home like this. He's not that cruel! It's just nice to see the tough guy squirm.
He's certain though Miguel will make due, the man twisting and jerking with each thrust, mask struggling to muffle his noises of desperation and pleasure. O'Hara feels his own gut clench, heat wrapping around him like a vice as he feels himself tip closer and closer to the edge.
But then Miguel is clenching around him, moans pitching as he arches his back, neglected cock shooting ribbons of white onto his chest. O'Hara forces himself to slow, taking a few deep breaths as Miguel comes down from his high, twitching a bit from the aftershocks.
As promised, O'Hara removes the gloves from his hands and cuts through the webbing with his talons. Miguel watches quietly, eyes still glazed from the pleasure. O'Hara rubs his thumbs into his palms for a moment - a sort of apology for wrapping them up, before he leans down and clips off the straps to the muzzle sliding it off. Miguel's lips are parted, a bit of drool trailing down his chin. O'Hara almost groans at the sight, tossing the items aside before grabbing his hips and slamming back into him.
As expected, Miguel shouts in surprise, claws sliding free and ripping through O'Hara's sheets. He shows no mercy with his thrusts, wrapping a hand around Miguel's softening cock and working him back up to that lovely hardness he possesses. Miguel twists under him but doesn't protest, gasping and jerking his hips up into his touch.
"M-Mig!" Miguel groans, his voice sounding wrecked. O'Hara is mildly surprised, given they've done more than this before. Maybe he was more into the muzzle than he thought. He goes willingly when Miguel grasps his shoulders, flinching when those fangs dig into the crook of his neck desperately. In return, he thrusts faster, his harsh pace sending him back to the edge he was balancing on.
"Oh, shock!" O'Hara grits out, jerking his hips sloppily as he reaches his peak, cumming deep inside the other as he works his hand over his cock in fast strokes, only stopping after Miguel whines into his neck and spills out over his hand.
The two stay put, breathing harshly as they soak in the afterglow. O'Hara winces when the pain from the bite seeps in, combing his fingers through Miguel's hair to coax him off of his neck. Eventually, Miguel releases him, lips a bit bloody as he flops onto his back. They stare at one another, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. Miguel moves first, grasping the back of his neck and yanking him into a kiss.
A violent one, of course.